Buckle up for a senseless post about my hair. (Or you can just go read this this awesomeness).
Well, if you are still here, I'll tell you about my annual hair knock down.
When you have pale blond and uninteresting hair, everything goes fine until you are about 32. When you turn 32 (or so) things start happening. Namely, the pale blond uninterestingness starts to sparkle a bit more than you'd like. You know, because it's turning gray. Now, this can go on for a good number of years more and you can tell yourself it's fine because your hair looks like champagne. Kind of bubbly. (Note to you ladies under 30: lying to yourself is an indispensable life skill after age 35. Start practicing now).
So you spend the summers running around outside and your hair lightens up and then grows some more, a little darker here, a little lighter there. You get about 15% of your head highlighted one day because you are feeling sort of ordinary and another day you get the tiniest fraction low-lighted because the hair - it's still kind of ordinary.
Then one day you wake up and you realize that your hair is nine different colors. And one of them is still gray.
Ordinarily it is round about October when this happens to me, and then I go to Aveda Institute on Spring Street and have them give me some 7N. (7N is the color my hair was when I was five. It is the correct color). Now, Aveda knows that I am totally not ok with dumping my entire head in a sink full of blond hair color. (I am holding out on that idea as long as possible). I have them pull 7N through the top layer to "knock down" the effects of sun and um the effects of, um, not being five years old anymore. Or twenty-five, if it comes to that.
Only this year, that hair knock down? It never happened.
If you were me this year, your dad threatened to die and you had a banger of nervous breakdown and you didn't look in the mirror for six months.
Then he didn't die and you realized you had to start paying attention to stuff other than inky black psychotic mania.
So you peeked in the mirror and you saw that, in your hysteria, you forgot to get your hair knocked down last fall, and as a result, your hair is very bubbly in addition to being nine different colors, and when you finally walk into Aveda, the stylist gasps "where the hell have you been? The knock down... it has been six months, yes?" Then she runs her fingers through your technicolor disaster and says "Wow. We need a whole lotta 7N."
Well, I let her do it. The 7N. The result is there was a whole lot of knock down. My hair has probably never been this dark ever in its life.
Now, I won't say I hate it because I don't. I kind of like it. But it's dark. Really dark. Wheatty dark. Nutty Chimay dark. If I look in the mirror I am all like "who the heck is that?"
So I am going to give it a few days and if i still don't recognize myself I will go down the street to the Russians who cut my hair before I left for Peru and let them toss some highlights into it. You know, to start the whole process over again. For the 7N.
Have a good weekend.