Thursday, August 25, 2011

Tragedy Strikes

I know this is a Southern girl, Dallas girl, spoiled rotten girl problem. I realize this is shallow. OK.

I'm not blonde anymore.

Kate, one of my roommates, is only feet away waxing her legs
(very funny). When she reads this she'll play that game where she'll roll her eyes and say "Claire, you ARE blonde." I'll post pictures to prove I am hardly that.

If you are blonde you will understand wondering if people take you seriously. Sometimes I feel like people don't trust me (they shouldn't) because I look so processed. I felt, honestly, like maybe I looked like the wrong kind of "girl next door," if you know what I mean.

So I wanted to switch it up. Bad move. Lesson learned would be: if it ain't broke don't fix it.

I died my hair from a box, like I have every month since the 6th grade, but the more "mature"
blonde I hoped for ended up GRAY! I don't need to further explain. It was just gray. I went to penny's salon ASAP the Wednesday morning and begged the stylist to save me. She did. And she took every penny I had.

Lesson sufficiently learned the hard way. I feel like my skin and hair are the same color.

Light is a tricky thing, so I took three of the new.


And new:

No comments:

Post a Comment