In early October of last year, I colored my hair black. (For all of you regular readers, I know you know this story already.) And when I say black, I mean all over black. I had, for all intents and purposes, a head of darkness, worthy of any villain you could imagine. (I'm including the picture to remind you of what it looked like, and for contrast with the second picture.)
At the time I placed the black into my hair, I was convinced that 28 washes and I'd be done with the new change. But apparently, my hair holds onto color the way Melina latched onto my nipple: with a fierce grip. By March of this year, I had tired of looking like Snow White or Bella Swan and asked for red highlights. They helped, but not nearly enough. I still felt like something wasn't quite right with respect to my hair.
So yesterday, I sought the help of Chrissy once again, and in true miracle worker style, look what she managed to do.
She lightened my hair more than I thought she would, and yet, I feel so much better. And by better, I mean that I feel like I've just taken off a too-small coat and now have some room to breathe.
How nuts is that? I had no idea I would feel this great, or I'd have resurrected that lighter hair shade a long time ago.
(Quick, weird, FYI. I have chameleon eyebrows. After I darkened my hair, I said to the kids, "Who knew my eyebrows were so dark!" A few minutes ago, I said to the kids, "Who knew my eyebrows were so light!")