|Hairdressers of the world unite!|
Yesterday's debacle made me turn in desperation to a bigger solution. This was beyond sweet Justin's ability, I thought. So I went to a new, more expensive hairdresser recommended by two friends. Julie had the grace not to gasp when I straggled in, looking closer to a bag lady, with the strap on my bag hanging off (it had ripped on the way to Workers Stadium. I kind of love the fact that my hair mistake is being fixed inside China's monument to the worker. Workers Stadium today is dotted with restaurants, high end sports stores, hair salons, and other testaments to the power of capitalism and a good pizza. But I digress)
|Me in black.|
|Step one. Blonde ambition.|
So the first step was to strip the hair of all the black. Because when you go this black, it's hard to go back (sorry, couldn't resist). Two workers started applying a bleaching agent to my hair. One guy was clearly moving fast, which I noticed as a plop of bleach landed on my iPad and another on my nose. I decided to close my eyes. Eyesight is never overrated.