Black as night, mad as hell

Years ago, during my ill-conceived long hair stage in Columbia, I decided to get rid of my summer highlights and return to my brown roots. As Rachel can attest, I succeeded admirably in ridding my hair of color. In fact, the stylist turned my hair jet black.

Today, I decided to get rid of my summer highlights and return to my brown roots. I succeeded admirably in ridding my hair of color. In fact, the stylist turned my hair jet black.

When I say, "I want my hair its original color," why does every cunt with a hair brush interpret that to mean BLACK? IS MY HAIR NATURALLY BLACK? NOOOO. With a very important lunch meeting tomorrow and an even more important wedding on Saturday (and rehearsal dinner on Friday), I'm fucked. I bought a box of Tide and washed my hair five times when I returned from the salon. Instead of midnight black my hair now looks like a hardly lighter shade of sable. I don't have the money to fix my hair, so I'm afraid I'm stuck with this color. As long as I dress like an preppy J. Crew cut-out, people won't think I'm trying to emulate death. And if they do, I'll make sure they emulate death.