I kind of love the smell of hair dye. I write this because the smell is quite overwhelming now as my hair swishes around my face (or rather, as I move my head hairogprahy style to try to get a whiff of the ammonia). Other than the fact that it signifies um, color change (?), it reminds me of 2003. When we were all newly freed from 10 years of harsh academia and ready to face a new, exciting world with colored (mine was orange) hair. Yes, I was bridesmaid at my sister's wedding with that hair. Yes, I started 2004 with that hair. Yes, I began yet another journey of harsh academia with my citrus hair. Yes, I promptly got in trouble and subsequently made the grave mistake of dyeing my hair jet hello-i-am-a-domestic-helper black. And that marked the end of my love for dye until, well, yesterday.
Ah hair dye I love you. Fun newfangled foamy hair dye I love you.
Seriously what is it with me and posts about my olfactory senses?
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