I don’t have expensive taste. Well, I don’t indulge any expensive taste I have.
I’m generally pretty happy to waste my money on soy rooibos and chai lattés, books and meals out. We read a lot, so I’m certainly not going to start encouraging Isobel to stop wanting to collect books, any time soon. I cook and bake a lot, so meals out? Are my freaking moments off. And the compulsion for coffeeshop visits started with her colic. Actually, with the horrendously boring and depressing final four months of my pregnancy.
Point being, I don’t spend a lot of money on anything other than bills, and outside of those habits and maintaining our grocery supply in the least expensive way possible.
Or, at least, I didn’t.
I decided about six months ago that I’d start growing my hair out. To mermaid length. We’re talking waist-long, could walk topless and no one’d see my goodies mermaid length. Considering that my hair grows about an inch a month, I think it should take about 14 years.
And then, I decided to go darker in the spring. Really, I should have given my head a firm slap upside itself, since this strawberry blonde with her inch-a-month-growth has to undergo maintenance every five weeks or so. Roots. I get them, they’re obvious when I do, and they must be extinguished immediately.
It’s a pricey habit, dyeing your hair every five or six weeks. It’s priciest when you’ve developed a love of stylists at a certain boutique who do magical things which mean you don’t have to contort yourself at 2am in the morning, when your kid is sleeping, with a box of what said stylists call the devil sitting on the back of the toilet, and your shower curtain dangerously within three inches.
Dyeing my hair myself makes me stressed, takes too long, I’m never happy with it since I’m totally feeble at the process, and it’s just not worth the tears. But damn, do I like my hair freshly dyed. And flat-ironed. And trimmed.
I’ve got an addiction that gets fed twice every three months and it makes me feel absolutely fucking fabulous. So much so that I’m willing to put photos on the Internet of me without makeup. The horror!
Hello, my name is Terra, and I’m a hair-shopaholic.
