this is the end of the story:
and this is the story:
first, no i didn't murder anyone.
it all began when my friend amy wanted a red streak in her hair.
and i said, "i can do that!"
and i can.
and i did a good job, hammit.
...except for the part where i said,
"there's still bleach on these gloves, i can't use them to do the red dye."
and thus i said,
"i'll just use my hands! i'll only touch the dye for like 30 seconds."
and i did.
please refer back to the picture above.
shampoo, dish soap, exfoliating body wash, toothpaste, baking soda, apple cider vinegar, nail polish remover, voo doo magic...
no dice, kids!
and thus i look like i've murdered someone.
and it may appear this way for a couple weeks.
the best part is that a litttttle bit of red dye comes off my hands every time they come in contact with a cleaning agent.
and thus this morning i realized,
"i can't shampoo my blonde hair or it will turn pink!"
and thus i found myself kneeling over the bathtub,
while my blessed roommate washed my hair for me.
and i giggled the entire time.
also, please don't ask about the 80s garb and side ponytail.
that's another story.
OJ Simpson hands,