Not to answer the door in the morning.
Mom's babysitting this morning, so I decided to spend an extra hour at home and dye my hair. Yes, I refuse to give up the idea of being a blonde even though it has not worked in over 4 years. Anyways, the doorbell goes and I innocently go and answer it.
Picture it, your heroine and heroin, with one hand in the plastic glove which is smeared in the dye solution, hair slicked back with this foamy-solution which is so strong it's bringing tears to my eyes, in my flannel pajama bottoms and a orange cammy which is now splattered in the hair dye.
We are sitting at -2c here this morning, and here's me, hanging out the front door of the building in this state only to find that it's two little old ladies peddling god.
My only saving grace this morning was the fact that I was in the middle of dying my hair and they themselves said they know they hate to be answering doors and phones and stuff when they do their hair.
Hallelujah.
P.S. the dye-solution has,it seems dripped down the front of the cammy and onto my boobs. Yay me. I just can not seem to win with the damned hair colour, it's like there is a judgement handed down on me to be a redhead against my wishes. Is there a reason for this? Does the man of my dreams- the future of my desire only like redheads? I'm starting to wonder.
Starting to think that the Goddesses/Gods of love are up there handing down punishments, not only am I being sentenced to total singletonness, but I've been given a sentence of 30+ years to life as a mousy redhead.
