Edify*

The Great Creator is an appropriate name as He uses the most creative ways to humble His children. I'm talking about a certain incedent involving a box of permanent hair color and a girl who wanted to try something new.

Cleaning out my stuff the other day, as I have habitually come to do every so often, I stumbled across a box of dark red hair color. hmm, I thought. I colored my hair a couple years ago. lets try it again. I like my hair color, but I also like being adventuresome and trying new things. An adventure all right. or misadventure as it turned out.

as Dams describes the outcome when she saw me at work today: 1200 kilowatt orange (or something of that sort). Ryan's description: halloween hair.
on top of the color, it's uneven, like a bad highlight job. with my hair in a ponytail and a hat on, you can't even tell I colored it. splotchiness is the biggest problem, not the color.

Momma, if you read this, I don't blame you. You did do it, but I was the one who wanted it, and by God's grace (it is His grace) I can laugh at myself. and so can other people. (I'm sorry I made you cry Dams). hahaha

so tomorrow I am going to get it fixed, (and also get a trim- to fix another thing I tried to do at home). I did my hair at home because I didn't want to spend the money of getting it done professionally. I would never have colored my hair if I hadn't bought those two Colorsilk boxes for less than $6.

Oh well. You live and you learn.
And are sanctified in the process. (and no, I am not putting a picture of it up, not out of pride, but because my picuture scheme/ theme is mostly artistic photos).

**************

"Are you sick then?" demanded Marilla anxiously, going over to the bed.
Anne cowered deeper into her pillows as if desirous of hiding herself forever from mortal eyes.
"No. But please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me. I'm in the depths of despair and I don't care who gets head in class or writes the best composition or sings in the Sundayschool choir any more. Little things like that are of no importance now because I don't suppose I'll ever be able to go anywhere again. My career is closed. Please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me." ...
"Look at my hair, Marilla," she whispered.
Accordingly, Marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizingly at Anne's hair, flowing in heavy masses down her back. It certainly had a very strange appearance.
"Anne Shirley, what have you done to your hair? Why, it's GREEN!"
Green it might be called, if it were any earthly color--a queer, dull, bronzy green, with streaks here and there of the original red to heighten the ghastly effect. Never in all her life had Marilla seen anything so grotesque as Anne's hair at that moment.
"Yes, it's green," moaned Anne. "I thought nothing could be as bad as red hair. But now I know it's ten times worse to have green hair. Oh, Marilla, you little know how utterly wretched I am."

{[Photo courtesy Felicity Schwab]}