Like brown hair.
My hair is brown. Oh, the agony.
My hairdresser was talking to her hairdresser about the white on each side of my head. My hair is not blonde there, it is white. What do you expect, I'm sixty-one years old.
Anyway, her hairdresser said to use a stronger tint; which she would supply, and that would cover up the white.
I reckon so.
My natural blonde is that lovely shade that they call dishwater or dirty blonde. She lightens it up by a shade, which gives me a bit of brightness around my poor, pale face.
Alas, no more. The stronger tint made my hair brown.
Not natural brown, where there are blonde, or red highlights. Just mud puddle brown. They ain't nary a white hair in sight, neither.
I will say I've washed it eleven billion times, because I read that dye fades after each wash. And now I can see a little bit of lighter hair on the tips on top, which helps some.
A lighter shade has been ordered to try to get me back to me, but who knows? I may be platinum next time you see me.
I hear there are a lot of lovely winter hats in the department stores now.
Meanwhile, I'll wear a name tag so I recognize myself in the mirror.
No comments :
Post a Comment