Y'all I fucking LOVE my hairdresser. Well actually his daddy. Who took one look at me and was like, "Girl, you are a challenge for me today."
Why yes. Yes I am. He counted more than six colors in my hair. All different tones. He buttered me up and then drove in the knife, "now sweetie, I don't judge anyone for coloring their hair at home but please tell me we are not doing this shit again."
We will not be.
It took more than four hours, a whole lot of color and I think he may have made some sort of deal with the devil. But somehow it made it work and bless him for it.
My hair looks like hair again. And it even still feels soft (in hairdresserspeak it has "integrity" which I love, my hair would NEVER LIE IN COURT) and doesn't look like straw. That is a fucking miracle.
I gave the man a giant tip and if he swung that way I would have flashed him my boobs.
In fact, I pretty much had a restrain myself from doing that.