Step two: New hair style.
One thing I have never done on this blog is post my picture. This isn't some sort of concern over anonymity, as I put my child's photo up here most posts. No, this is a vanity issue. I, like every other normal human being on earth, have my up days and my down days when it comes to my body/hair/features/style. Mostly it's down. I don't want people to know what I look like because I don't generally like what I see. Typical shite, yes?
Well, that ends today.
Before yesterday I hadn't been to the hair stylist since last November. I intended to go when the new year came around but our American vacation was extended, and then I never seemed to find the time or motivation to go once we came home in March. I passed this off by pulling my hair up in a wet bun every single day. Oh, you thought I did that because I really love the uptight librarian look? While that might be a bedroom preference (Ha! TMI!), it's not how I want to look to go to work.
However, when my hair is down and blowdried, this is the outcome:
A few adjectives might come to mind when you see the picture above. Fuzzy might be one of them. Freaky pointy tongue might be the other. Both are valid.
Since having James my hair has gone, for the lack of a better term, batshit crazy. What used to be a boring pile of perfectly straight hair has turned into a frizzy mess of wavy hair that can not be controlled without a lot of time and an intervention from higher beings. Like aliens. And Oprah. So, unless I want to dedicate an hour to my hair in the mornings, I'm dealing with the above on a daily basis and so I slap it into a bun at the back of my head.
As of yesterday, my hair has been cut and coloured and made to look pretty. My head is living in 2001 all over again and is tempting me to go drinking on a Sunday night. I went in feeling a little nervous knowing that if Callum at The Room decided my hair would be cut like my dad's I wouldn't be able to say no. I like him just too much and I trust him. If he said "Liz, I think your hair would look brilliant in a beehive" I would say "Callum, call me Holly Golightly!" and be done with it. I'd freak out on the inside the entire time but I would let him get on with it and then employ the trusty bun until my head looks like the above again.
However, he didn't do that. He never does. He did this instead: