I got sick of maintaining the red-violet/violet streak in my hair and I figured I’d just bleach it white and then put a wash of lavender over it. I’ve always admired elegant older ladies with their classy lavender hair...
So I bleached it, with the thrill of first-time bleaching and some fear and trembling. I got hair lightener stuff from some nice ladies at Sally Beauty Supply who promised me it wouldn’t make my hair fall off. I was remembering of a friend of my oldest brother who bleached his rattail (weird 80’s hairstyle) with household bleach and it fell off...
This heinous bubblegum/cotton candy/pepto bismol/fluorescent/glow in the dark pink was so appalling that I stared at it for ten minutes. And when light hit it, it looked like it was glowing with some kind of radioactive energy. It didn’t fall off but it was horrid... I'd call this "Nightmare Pink."
I went back and got more of the noxious fumed putrid smelling hair lightener. The results were much better the second time, I put lavender over it, and it worked exceedingly satisfactorily.
All’s well that ends well, right? I figure now that my hair is a more ethereal color maybe I’ll get into Heaven faster.
There is a point to this post and it is this: One good thing about having a terminal illness is you can do all kinds of things and get away with them. I try not to abuse the privilege but it works great for stuff like crazy hair.
While I’m posting pictures, here’s a magnificent Dutch Puff I made the other night; proof that I do eat for those concerned.
In His Grip, Martha