Middle of the night, whole house asleep, and there’s me, with a box of hair dye in my hand…again. I’m not sure what it is, a love of color, a desire to experiment, a way to shake myself out of a rut…like if I look different, perhaps I’ll be different.
Anywho, I’ve always wanted to have wierd colorful hair. But first there was grad school, then teaching high school, then professional life, each time I had to live up to some external expectation of who I was and what I was about.
But the other night I realized, “What the heck? If I don’t like it, I can dye it brown.” And I took the plunge. (Splat!, Luschious Raspberry.)
I am loving having pink hair! At first I was afraid the new look would alienate folks. But you know, it’s just the opposite. I seem to be way more approachable and friendly now. All kinds of people are coming up and talking to me, and little kids just grin.
And I take myself a lot less seriously. It’s like I’ve thrown my dignity away, and good riddance. Publically declaring myself an artsy-fartsy wierdo, seems to be exactly what I should be doing at the moment.
And besides, I think the color becomes me. (Or at least, I match my camera. ;> )
Kai’s comment when he saw me, “Mama! Your hair’s fuschia!” I love that kid. Six years old and he’s already got a rich color vocabulary.
P.S. I’m not stoned, I swear! I just got back from the eye doctor’s and my eyes are still dilated.