ombre gone wrong.

Last year, yes year, I got a haircut and some subtle ombre highlights.  Because decision making is not my strong suit, I waited another year to get my hair done.  I couldn’t get it cut or they would cut the ombre out.  I couldn’t go get more ombre because then I would have to commit to getting color again.

Rashly I decided to go to a chain salon, but to ask for their resident ombre expert.  Surely there has to be someone!  I was wrong.  I walked out of the salon looking like a meth stripper from the Sons of Anarchy.

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After my brother and several friends pointed out that I looked like a lunatic, or worse, that I looked like a person on peopleofwalmart.com,  I decided to cry alone in my bedroom for awhile*.  After that I decided to call the salon and tell them to fix it.

So, they fixed it the best they could.  But I brought my mom because I am weak willed and my mom, while very mild mannered usually, will go to bat for her children.  And while I’m almost 30, I just really needed my mom to give the hair dresser who did this to me the evil eye from across the room.

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yeah, I’m eating fried pickles. What of it?

This experience was overwhelmingly traumatic for me.  So much so, that I may need to go on Doctor Phil and talk it through.

Next time you see me, I’ll probably just look like this:

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*This marks the second time I’ve cried during this pregnancy, the other being when Colonel Brandon brings Kate Winslet a piano for her tiny cottage sitting room.

** Bonus Gif.  “It sucks, as it cuts”

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