I realized something about myself at the hair salon, yesterday; I like having someone else do the heavy lifting involved in dying my roots. I was afraid that might happen.
Not only did I not have to engage in the mental and physical gymnastics required to see the back of my head (Mirror in the left hand, dye wand in the right, comb clenched between the teeth, rotate to the left, rotate to the right, wait, everything is backwards in the mirror, or is it? Do the reflections in two mirrors cancel each other out? Wait! Is that my hand? Oh, shit, glob of dye on the counter top! Kill me! Kill me, now!) but; I got to sit in a comfortable chair and to read a magazine.
Which, by the way, Kim Kardashian? My new dye job will last longer than that marriage did. Um, I hope.
On the off-chance (according to my new best friend, otherwise known as my hairdresser) that the dye job starts to fade in the next week (like it ALWAYS does), I have an appointment to return to the salon for Round Two. New BFF believes with her whole heart that I will cancel that appointment, so pleased will I be with the longevity of the new color. I am less convinced but, I chalk that up to Hair Dye PTSD and am willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
I do have to say, today, the color is gorgeous. I would post a picture but; I didn't shower for fear of washing out even a smidgen of the color. Maybe tomorrow.
But, probably not.
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