I just cut my hair off again. It was part of the downsizing of my life, I guess. I parted with the Locks of Love 10-inch minimum without batting an eye. This was my second donation in as many years-- I may become a professional hair grower. It took many years and many, many tears to realize that hair, in most cases, grows back. Granted, there is nothing quite as bad as a bad haircut, but, the thing is, there is very little with hair that can't be changed. My hair has had many shapes, forms, shades, and styles. But my true inner-hair is just this side of strawberry blonde, mid-length, and tucked behind my ears. I am currently sporting the short version of my true hair. Short is fine. As I said, it grows back.
I make my grandmother cry every time I change my hair. The worst was when I dyed it blue. I ALWAYS wanted blue hair. Not old lady in flower-print dress blue, but vibrant, true blue. I had the chance and excuse to experience that very hair adventure just before the dawning of the New Millennium (that makes a regular New Year sound big and worthy of The Blue Hair). I was working at the Sundance Film Festival (edgy hair accepters there), NOT going to BYU (for the first time in a LONG time), and was feeling just enough self-loathing that if it was ugly, I could tell myself that I deserved it. There's always that to fall back on. So I did it. I went to my dear friend Suzanne who has become the quintessential Riggs Girls/Extended Friend-Circle Stylist. We discussed. Then we bleached. To get the true blue that I wanted, we had to start with white. I looked like the albino from Princess Bride. Wheelbarrow full of Wesley and all. Then the blue. I was so scared when that towel came off my head. But when it did come off, my hair was FABULOUS. Really. Better than I had imagined. It made my eyes just strikingly, well, blue. It was great with my skin. It was sassy. It was different. And still conservative enough that people didn't really even notice. Really. It was permanent. And it lasted for 3 days. By the third day, the only thing that was blue was my shower and my towels. My hair had faded to a slightly blue tinged grey-- the very same as the aforementioned old lady in FPD blue. I was horrified. I went back to Suzanne. She was horrified. We tried for days, then weeks to cover that blasted grey hair with anything. The worst was when we tried dyeing it a vibrant red-orange to cover everything. That stuck to my newly grown 1 /4 inch roots. But nothing else-- picture lavender hair with orange roots. Gorgeous. This led to the shortest haircut of my life, leaving just those orange roots. And you thought I was fighting off the lesbians before....
Having lived through the Blue Hair Trauma of 2000 without any permanent scars (and only one picture-- the irony is that all my New Years pictures from that year are black and white. Of course), I can now live through any hair trauma. But for the time being, I will stick with the color God gave me, and continue the growing and cutting, waxing and waning, and living, and for now, not dyeing. One can only make one's grandma cry so often, right?
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