I got my roots done yesterday. Incidentally, a good way to convince your husband that you need your hair fixed is to post a self-portrait on the internet with an arrow pointing to your gray roots. Everyone Mike came into contact with said, “why won’t you let your wife get her hair done!” which of course befuddled Mike, because he has no control over it, and finally he said, “get your hair dyed or whatever so people will stop bugging me!” Gladly.
I went back to my stylist and told her to fix up my roots. We were chatting away, and then I told her that my eyebrows don’t match my hair color and it was frustrating me when it came to makeup. She gave me some tips and then I finally said, “Can you just dye my eyebrows?”
My laziness, let me show it to you.
She paused. “Well, I could but I don’t know…your eyebrows are blond.”
“So they’ll take the dye then!”
“Yes…but they will really take they dye. They will be…red.”
“Perfect! Sign me up!”
An hour later when I looked in the mirror, I realized what she was talking about.
For reference, here are my eyebrows before I went to the salon:
And here they are now:
We got a little too close to the web cam on this one:
Bright. Red. Caterpillars. Like I have a sunburn ONLY UNDER MY EYEBROWS. I have Bozo the Clown’s eyebrows.
Why didn’t I listen to my stylist? WHY WHY WHY WHY WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!