I grew up with hair that was titian red and I hated it. I mean, I despised it. I hated being teased for it, I hated that it made me different, I hated everything about it. I wished almost every day that it was different.
Then, I grew up and got over it. Then I grew up some more and decided I liked it. Then I grew up all the way and it became a treasured part of my identity.
That is until I had kids at which point it got duller with each passing year. Instead of going gray I’m simply going dull and boring. What was once unmistakably red is now headed straight for a dazzling shade of mud. And each passing year I hate that it’s happening more and more.
I finally gave in and made an appointment to have my hair colored – something I swore I would never do until I was gray. I didn’t feel like myself and I was tired of people looking at me and saying “Where did Jamie get his red hair?” and being confused when I said “Me.”
Today was D-Day (Dye Day) and I was really keyed up and nervous this morning. I trust my hair dresser very much and he has never steered me wrong but still – this was a big deal! Also, I was going to have him chop 3 inches off my hair in an attempt to tame its increasingly unruly nature.
I couldn’t be happier with the results.
Huzzah! I’m me again!!