Do Blondes Have More Fun?

I'm gonna have to let you know on that one.

The downside to having a hair stylist for a stepmom, who also happens to have her own salon in the home and lots of willingness to play the beauty game, is that lots of trouble can be had when the hair science experiments begin.

After the week we've all had, a little lightening up, particularly with the tresses, seemed very sppropriate. Four hours and four color applications later, I am blonde. Very very blonde. "You're hair looks like the dog's," my dad commented. Nice.

We won't talk about the orange phase that must be passed through on the journey from brunette to blonde. I didn't follow my stepmom's command of "Don't look!" I think I'm forever scarred by that image.

Nonetheless, my hair didn't fall out in the process and I came back home feeling like a whole new girl. Putting on my make-up for work this morning, I decided that the right description for my appearance would have to be "porn star from the chin up."

As luck would have it, I took the dog downtown for a walk and ran smack into an old boyfriend. "Whoa, your hair," he said, taking a step back. "I like it???"

Better reaction from the gym folks: "Wow, you look like Nicole Kidman," said the male client. "No, no, honey," said his wife. "She's much prettier than Nicole Kidman." I think they were being nice because we were headed into the pilates room and they know that physical torture, vis a vis the Reformer, was immiment.

In any event, I'm going to refrain from posting a picture up on the blog until I can safely walk by a mirror without startling myself.

And I'll let you know if life starts to get any more fun.