My hair is green.
Just like Kermit, Oscar the Grouch and other assorted Muppets. My hair is green.
For years I have highlighted my hair. Brightens it up. Recently it dawned on me that hair dye may not be the safest thing to put so close to my brain. So all summer my friendly hairdresser has been attempting to get my hair back to it's original color. (whatever that may have been)
This summer each time my hair was colored, it would disappear and be back to it's streaky-brass self in about a week.
At this week's hair appointment my hairdresser claimed she had the trick to make the color stay. Some sort of French word for magic.
I emerged from the salon chair looking a bit like a deranged Snow White. Skin the color of snow. Hair the color of coal. Only without the birds perching on my fingers, it didn't look so cute.
Fast forward to the next day. I took my shower, brought Little Guy to Kindergarten and popped-in on Girlie and her friends in the cafeteria.
Staring. Pointing. Giggling. The table full of eight year-old girls who couldn't take their eyes off of me. I was rocking the sweatpants...
"Ms. Gruppie. Why is your hair green?" Huh? "Mummy, your hair is green."
Lovely.
Just like Kermit, Oscar the Grouch and other assorted Muppets. My hair is green.
For years I have highlighted my hair. Brightens it up. Recently it dawned on me that hair dye may not be the safest thing to put so close to my brain. So all summer my friendly hairdresser has been attempting to get my hair back to it's original color. (whatever that may have been)
This summer each time my hair was colored, it would disappear and be back to it's streaky-brass self in about a week.
At this week's hair appointment my hairdresser claimed she had the trick to make the color stay. Some sort of French word for magic.
I emerged from the salon chair looking a bit like a deranged Snow White. Skin the color of snow. Hair the color of coal. Only without the birds perching on my fingers, it didn't look so cute.
Fast forward to the next day. I took my shower, brought Little Guy to Kindergarten and popped-in on Girlie and her friends in the cafeteria.
Staring. Pointing. Giggling. The table full of eight year-old girls who couldn't take their eyes off of me. I was rocking the sweatpants...
"Ms. Gruppie. Why is your hair green?" Huh? "Mummy, your hair is green."
Lovely.
Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?
3 comments:
Green???
oh no! well, punk rock still lives.
It's not easy being green, even when "green" is "in"?
But you? You can rock the green any day!
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