So, as I’m sure all 4 of my faithful readers know, I’ve been growing my hair out for a long time. Today I finally went to get my hair did. I wanted something fairly simple; a tiny bit of a trim, bangs, and some highlights, in magenta. Like Pravana magenta, if you know what that is. (If not, just google it, okay? I’m too lazy to find a photo right now.)
So, the bleaching part for the highlights took forever. Then, when the hair dye part finally happened, the girl doing my hair said something about how my hair wasn’t taking the pink, just the purple, whatever that means. So, I was a little nervous, but I figured purple highlights wouldn’t be too bad. She didn’t leave the dye on for very long – I don’t know if she was rushing because she had other clients or what, but the dye was not on my head for anywhere near as long as the bleach.
Anyhoo. So, dye gets washed out, and I get cut. I can’t really tell what the highlights look like, except to notice that they are about as far from magenta as I am from having a penis. Oh well. I am such a nice (stupid) person, I tell her not to worry about it. I don’t get my hair blown dry, so I can’t really tell anyway.
Then I got home. (And yes, I did switch from present to past again. You can’t stop me!)
And my hair dried.
And this, my friends, is my stylist’s interpretation of magenta:
faded teen rebel manic panic?
Magenta? Not even close.
After a fit of crying and general hysteria, I called the salon, and they’re gonna fix it tomorrow. I swear, if they fuck it up again, I will cut a bitch. Don’t fuck with my hair. I’ve invested a lot of time, angst, and bad growing out phases into this to have it look like teenage runaway hair.
The bangs are cute though, huh?
