Let's start in the vague direction of the beginning.
I've always been fairly blase about my hair. Bleach it, dye it blue, shave it into a mohawk, chop it with my eyes closed... Hair is just hair. It grows back. Eventually.
Though in saying this, it's been a few years since I've done anything more extreme than hack at it with a razor. I'm slowing down with age and *cough cough* maturity.
Since allowing the lad to shave my hair to a #5 a few months back, and enduring several weeks of being mistaken for one of the Top Twins (or so I imagine) it's slowly slowly grown back to the point where I realise my unkept mop is now comparable to that of Donald Trump.
It's depressing, but true. Ask Google.
So I decided a couple of weeks ago to finally mix up the streaking kit that has sat at the top of the kitchen cupboard for four or so years, and stick it all through my hair. Just for something different.
As I half-way expected with stripping out dark dye, Super Blonde actually became Super Ginga.
And I decided to fix it
So I bleached it again. On the assumption that it would go really blonde.
I found the thought of having blonde hair to be kind of appealing. A stark contrast to the blacks and blues and purples and (more of late) purple-red and red-browns that I'm used to. But hey, I'm too old for fun colours... Blonde could be a pleasant change. Sure, I might feel a bit like a traitor to my own self - like I'm conforming to society's expectations of what a good responsible parent is supposed to look like - but I decided I'm finally ready to give 'normal' hair a go.
As I mixed up my bottle of Schwarzkopf Nordic Super Duper You Asked For It And Now You've Got It Blonde I looked at the gorgeous blonde with the flowing locks pictured on the front of the box and said to myself "I'm gonna magically transform into YOU soon!"
Of course, I'm well acquainted with Murphy's Law.
Yes. I have transformed.
Into a radioactive lemon.
So, I guess bleaching my hair again was a mistake.
But truly, I think I can fix it this time.
I realise now that the best thing I can do is to revisit the Fudge Paintbox colours of my early 20's and throw some Blue Velvet through it. Or maybe a nice chilli red (think Sydney from episode 1 of Alias).
It's going to work. It's going to be awesome this time.
Other parents will shun me even more so than usual, and as an added bonus... The kids at kindy are gonna think I'm the coolest clown ever!
Oh, and before I go I'm going to link you (oh invisible and non-existent readers) to what is perhaps the perfect though horrifically bad teeny-bopper pop punk/whatever theme-song to this post. I challenge you to survive it for longer than 21 seconds: