A neurotic girlie post

I dyed my hair over the weekend – the roots were getting a bit much (and the grey! Oh, the grey). Trouble was, I couldn’t find my normal shade and rather than opt for an ammonia special, I went for the next colour up in the usual range (next one down would be black; I know I’m a bit goth-y but I’d rather not go all the way to looking like the undead).

I knew I was in trouble when it started washing out an aubergine-y colour. Yeah, I used to be a redhead, but it took a lot of trouble to change and I’m not going back just yet! Anyway, my roots have gone a chav-y bronze colour and a) it looks like I haven’t bothered dyeing my hair at all cos the roots are still there and b) it’s fucking bronze. I should have my hair in a facelift ponytail and a dodgy fake tan. Went out last night and nobody commented and I know I’m just being neurotic, but I still give thanks for low lighting in bars and clubs until I get hold of the proper stuff.

Oh, and I’m starting a campaign to highlight the discrimination of fashion against short people (FASP?). Went shopping for work trousers on Sunday; tried seven pairs on in Next and not one fit. Dorothy Perkins does various lengths, but half their trousers contain man-made fibres and our offices are very static-y. And I’m a very static-y person. I’m sick of getting shocks. Grrr. Being short sucks.

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