I am not a do-it-yourself kinda gal.  You’ve probably gathered that from previous blog posts.  Well, my non DIY stance applies to my hair, too.  I never have – and never will – colored/cut/up-doed my own hair.  I am simply not capable of such things.  I once YouTubed a curling iron tutorial.  Got that?  I actually googled, “How to curl your hair.”  I can’t even operate a curling iron without video assistance!  And even with the video assistance, I totally scorched my hair.

But that’s okay, because I’m not really high maintenance about my hair.  Perhaps I’m not high maintenance about my hair because I don’t know how to be high maintenance about my hair – but whatever.  Growing up, I always played it safe, never adding more than a few barely noticeable highlights to enhance my natural color (mousey brown).  But then a few years ago I decided I was ready for a change!  I was ready to plunge into the world of hair dye!

This was a HUGE decision for me.  So I gathered my courage, walked into the salon a light brunette and walked out – a dark brunette!  It was revolutionary!  Changed my life!

I’m lying.  Of course it didn’t change my life.  It’s hair dye.  I don’t subscribe to the theory that blondes have more fun, and by extension, brunettes less fun.  Or any theory that claims you hair color will determine your life/personality/how much fun you have.  The person who has the most margaritas has the most fun, obviously; it has absolutely nothing to do with hair color.  But still, I liked the new look and decided to stick with it, when convenient.

Incidentally, the last time it was convenient was a really, really long time ago.  Like, pre-baby long ago.  My lustrous dark brown hair had long ago faded back to basic brown.  But visiting my parents in California afforded me the opportunity to visit my long-time stylist and redo my do.

Perhaps my stylist’s assistant had been drinking before she mixed my color, or perhaps she just didn’t like me.  Either way, my request for “dark brown” color somehow turned into “jet black”.  Um, yeah.  I am freakishly pale fair-skinned, so black hair on me looks a tad… dramatic.

“I love the dark color on you!” my stylist gushed.  “It really brings out your eyes.”

What I think he meant to say was, “It really brings out [the dark circles under] your eyes.”  Details.

Now, any girl reading this will probably attest that a bad haircut can be a harrowing experience.  And while I am not high-maintenance about my hair on a day-to-day basis, I am not above crying over a disastrous trip to the salon.  Case in point: Spring quarter my senior year of college, a malicious stylist chopped my hair into what on some women would probably have been a cute and sassy bob, but on me was a cropped, frizzy mess.  I immediately called my mom in tears, and subsequently endured all end-of-college festivities looking like a boy.  That horrible haircut is now immortalized in all my graduation photos.  But I’m not bitter.  (I’m so bitter.)

But as I examined my unexpected appearance in the mirror, I determined that this accidental hair color was not going to be one of those experiences.  I would own this new look.  I would embrace it.  I would be… Goth Mom.  

Being that it’s so close to Halloween, the timing for an inadvertent dye job is just perfect.  I’ll really save some cash on wigs.  (Pretend that I didn’t spend an exorbitant amount on the coloring to begin with, okay?)

I suppose here is where I’m supposed to post a picture.  Well, sorry.  Not going to happen.  I can embrace the look without advertising it.  Let’s be honest: I’m basically using this blog as a vehicle to explain to all of you who have recently seen me or might see me soon why I look like Morticia Addams.   I assure you, this was an accident. I am not suffering some identity crisis.  Okay?  Glad we’ve got that straightened out.

Your turn!  Would any of you like to share your hair mishaps?