I make an effort to periodically violate the thin vessels of pigmented keratin that spring from my scalp.
Irrational diversity in colour can make for some interesting glances, as well as marking the core of almost every conversation. I have been pink and orange and brown and blonde and green and red, yellow, and purple and I can sing a rainbow too, despite poor grammar.
Recently, a festive green had faded to a snot yellow, or ‘snot quite yellow, as I joked weakly while people drew their disapproving expressions. I quite honestly enjoyed my green/yellow crown, and no amount of euphemistic “It’s really not that bad, “ or not so euphemistic “You really have to do something about your hair” could possibly convince me to change. For I am me, in all my hideous glory.
Alas the day had to come and so it has, now after 20 minutes of colour burning peroxide treatment, I look once again, like a pop singer.
Coloured to colourless, one day I will regret it, but not this year.