We’ve all had them.
If you say you haven’t, I would call you a cotton headed ninny muggin. Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t call you that, but I would highly believe you to be a liar.
The “them” I am talking about is properly referred to as hair dramas that you wish were saved for “yo mama.”
What did you do this time, Mary??
I really wish I could say this was a sudden lapse in judgement or a temporary psychosis, but I had actually been thinking about re-dying my hair for the past few months. Mind you: deciding to dye your caucasian-textured hair in the middle of Africa may not yield the results you desire/fantasize about while in reality being constrained my day-to-day “all nat-ur-al” lions mane.
So why the sudden urge to dye a portion of my hair bleach-blonde? Yes, feel free to gasp. Bleach blonde. I blame it solely, entirely, cent-percent on Elaina.
There I was. Sitting in a café listening to a John Piper Podcast on women’s beauty and their adornment not being in the things of this earth (literally.. could the Lord have been warning me anymore??), and I receive a phone call. Little miss Elaina C is at the pharmacy and found hair dye. She decided she was going to dye her hair dark brown and wanted to know if I wanted join her [apparently it's Transformation Tuesday on Instagram]. I’m working on being more spontaneous and adventurous, so I said, “Sure, let’s do bleach blonde.”
See how it’s all her fault? In all reality, I’m working on my extremes. Being adventurous can include spontaneously dying one’s hair, without jumping from one side of the spectrum to the other. Less, I divulge, I’m in progress. Sanctification doesn’t happen overnight, and apparently me learning from my past hair horrors doesn’t happen overnight either. Have I never told you about the Jennifer Aniston cut that turned out like the Cindy Brady cut? About the Pixie cut? Let’s chat sometime..
So what happened?
“MY HAIR’S BLUE. IT’S BLUE! AND I’M GETTING MARRIED IN A WEEK…. so not ideal.”-Bride Wars
Okay, so it’s not really blue. I’m being dramatic. But it is really orange.
It’s not that bad. It’s not that… baaad. Okay, it’s just confirmation on why I should never touch my hair. I’ve now decided to pack up my bags, move far away from hair salons and hair dye (apparently Africa wasn’t far enough), and I’m going to become a Mennonite so that people can restrict me from ever touching my hair… too far? Scratch that, dramatic effect sometime gets the best of me.
Really, there is hope though! There’s always hope. Praise Him! I would like to say, Elaina and LB look beautiful. Their hair turned out great. LB’s locks make her look like the sweet and innocent, 1990s version of Britney Spears. Elaina’s hair makes her look like an arab princess. Therefore, I am encouraged that even though we have a limited selection of colors, we can fix this. And I’m all for that!
Until next time, which hopefully will be an update on how I have ultimately learned my lesson and will never again fall into the horrid temptation to mess with what the good Lord gave me, I’ll leave you with the encouragement my roommates gave me during my crisis.
“Well, it is transformation Tuesday on Instagram.”-LB
Staring at me, Elaina says, “I’m thinking of a witch. No, not you. You’re hair is like a lion’s, mine is dark like a witch and LB’s is like a wardrobe. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe!” To which I mentally reply, “CS Lewis would be so proud.”
“This is just to encourage you. It could be your whole hair looking like this.”-Elaina then proceeds to show me a YouTube video of “Orange Hair Dye Gone Wrong.”
“It could always be worse. You could have no hair. I mean, what if your eyebrows were like that.”-mix of LB and Elaina
“It could be a great conversation starter. A great sermon illustration: contentment in Christ.”-LB
“You’re so less likely to get hit by a car now. It’s like a reflector on your head.”-Elaina