Where in the world was Katie?

A day in the life of a brunette

Recently, I've experimented with going back to my "roots". Though I was born a blonde, hair darkens. I have kept it blonde with sunlight and other helpful tools. No matter what I do, I always get the same questions about: "why don't you turn it brown like your roots?" I never liked it all brown. So, I was reluctant, but I had decided to finally add some brown streaks to spice up my blonde.

I stepped into the salon nervously and looked around. I was already fifteen minutes late, and I had never been there before. The receptionist asked for my name--then hastily introduced me to my stylist. As I turned to look at her, I noticed a glob of bright pink on top of her head. That should've been my first warning. I ignored it though and hopped into the chair.

It had been about two months since I'd gotten my hair done. So, I was excited to cover my brown roots before school started. I asked her to fix them and to add some brown streaks into my hair. She mixed colors and began.

Two hours went by...

We got to talking. She was around my age and was from another part of the country. We liked a lot of similar things.

Three hours went by...

I asked her what she liked about doing hair, and she told me she liked cutting and color was hard. Then she quickly fixed her statement and assured me she was very good at color and not to worry. That should've been my second warning. I shrugged it off and figured my hair was already covered in foil.

Four and then five hours went by...

She started to take out the massive amount of foil in order to wash the dye out of my hair. As she scrubbed, I could tell something was wrong--she seemed hesitant. She placed a towel over my head and walked me back over to the chair. As she removed the towel, my jaw dropped. Where I once had brownish roots, I now had--ORANGE. I asked her about it, and she shrugged it off and started to dry it.

In came my mom--Her eyes got large... she walked over and looked at my stylist--"What happened?!"

Shock.

Now, you need to understand-- a girl's hair is a prized possession, and mine is no exception. I've had the same golden locks since kindergarten. Literally--since kindergarten. I've changed it a bit a few times--adding highlights as it got darker--styling it differently, etc. etc. To put it plainly, I am not adventurous when it comes to my hair. So, it took every fiber of my being not to react like Elle Woods being dumped in the movie "Legally Blonde".

I sat there in disbelief as my mother, my distraught stylist and the master stylists ran around apologizing and reassuring me. I stared at my reflection--orange roots and pink streaks screamed back at me.

My stylist was whisked into a back room as two master stylists assessed the damage.

Everything else was a blur (probably due to shock and jet lag from my flight the day before).

Three hours and two Master Stylists later. I stared at my reflection again. It wasn't pink or orange. It was...brown. I blinked and tried to get used to it. It wasn't working.

I went throughout the rest of the day getting used to it. My friends all said they liked it--but I could tell they didn't.

The next day...

I woke up and scared myself when I looked in the mirror. "Who is that??" I thought to myself. I reluctantly called the salon and went back in that afternoon.

Forty-five minutes later, I had a new haircut and my (somewhat) blonde locks back. I smiled as I swished my hair in the wind.

I had done it. Though it may seem silly and a little dramatic, I had gone back to my roots. I had spent a full day as a brunette, and I can honestly say, it wasn't for me.

Blondes definitely do have more fun!