Most of you don't even know what my OLD look was like, so it doesn't make much of a difference.

However.

Before Monday, I had really light brown hair down to the middle of my back. From sun and salt and chlorine, the ends were bleached about 4 shades darker than the roots. It was all gradual and all, but still had been bugging me for a while.

So I used a (temporary) dye that I've been hauling around with me for literally years. I just never got around to it.

So Monday night, I was pleased to see that my hair is a nice, even chocolatey brown, instead of a weird, streaky, almost-blonde.

Except I think I dyed it at the moment my hair decided it needed a haircut, because all of a sudden, I couldn't do a damn thing with it. When ponytails look like shit, you know you're in trouble. So for most of this week, I had dark brown scary, fuzzy, do nothing hair. Lots of it.

I got a whole bunch of it chopped of tonight.

It's still really long. But she kind of... cut pieces out of the middle. Lots. Now I have a kind of a poor-girl's Gisele Bony-chkin thing going on.

You should have see Neal's face. He got a haircut, too.

In the car, on the way home.

Me: "Do you like it?"

Neal: "It's... fine."

Me: "Oh my God. If you could see yourself. You hate it so much, you're having a hard time keeping your face neutral."

But the funny thing was, I was scared right after it was done, too. But the dryer it got, the nicer it looked.

And now I'm happy.

This concludes today's Hairy Tale.

(Oh my God. Did I just write that? I should have my head shaved as punishment for a pun that bad.

But you have to catch me first.)