The grey roots weren't just roots anymore. They were sprouts. They were meandering vines. They were weedy fields.
I normally wear my hair in an untidy mess piled on top of my head, held in place with a stick or two and decorated with knit flowers. Talk about easy care! Once up, it stays up! Okay, sometimes I lose a stick and the locks get really frowzy looking and I need to comb out and regroup. But still, it's easy care. I shampoo every week - or two, if I'm feeling particularly European. Or depressed.
Went to the Kroger today and got me some Natural Instincts in Chinaberry, Clairol. Time to dye the hair pink, no purple, no - a kind of berry color. Umm, berrrrries.
What many of you all may not know is that my hair now is almost long enough to sit on. It's very long. Longer than it's ever been. Hillbilly grandma hair. So when one dyes one's hair, there is a lot of hair involved. And a lot of berry colored dye. When I stepped in the shower to rinse, and flung my head once or twice, I swear it looked like a scene from Psycho - dark red spatters and streaks everywhere! Eek. Now I have to clean the shower and kill some of Sweetie's science experiments. Dang, trying to be purty is painful.
The picture today is what I'm spinning - angora and silk.