Wait...you mean that's not how everyone reacts? Weird. 😉
But here's the thing. I kept mulling over the idea that old age IS a privilege, one denied to many. And if gray hair is an indicator of such a privilege, how could I do anything but embrace it? When I chopped off my hair weeks ago, I made the follow-up appointment for a trim and a color. Time passed, gray popped up...I considered it a sign.
I walked into the appointment today with this:
But oh the times, they are a'changin'! It was a multi-tiered process (one I may have strategically left out when telling my husband, "The appointment might take awhile...").
Step One:
Sexy, right?! 😂 I have to be honest, though; I've always been oddly attached to my hair (many appointments have ended in disappointed tears), yet I felt exhilarated during this process, odd as it may have looked throughout.
Step Two:
BLEACH BLONDE!!! I've never had a reason to have my hair stripped, and I totally loved the end result (temporarily, anyway)!
SIDENOTE: This was the stage when I asked my stylist/magician Melina if she watches iZombie -- she does!!! What do you say? I can be an extra, Melina can be a stylist...BOOM! You see it, right?
Step Three:
Hair is dyed, dried, and then dyed again. With flair, I might add.
After sitting and cooking, it was time to rinse. I have never before been giddy about hair color, so I loved the process!
Melina rinsed, dried, and styled to showcase the end result (drumroll, please!):
Stunning...and no, there's not one bit of sarcasm. If you had told me that, at age 32, I'd find my first gray hairs and dye my hair to accentuate rather than hide it, I'd call you a liar, and I'd be wrong. Because I faced my fear and came out on the other side...with a beautiful hairstyle along for the ride. ❤️❤️❤️
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