Narrative Essay On Blonde Hair

As a young girl I always wanted people to play with my long, straight, blonde hair. My mother as well as my aunts would fix my hair to match whatever I was wearing. Whether it was a bow, clips, tiara, or braids I seemed to always have something in my hair. As I got older I knew something was changing, and I was not sure if I would like it. When you are in a military family you have to be somewhat okay with moving and change, but I have never liked change.
There was no such thing as a small bow, the bigger the bow the better. My mom wouldn’t let me go out of the house without a bow stuck to my head. You were seen as the bad mom if your child’s head was naked while out in public. I was the type of little girl that absolutely loved having any kind of accessory in my hair. I was that child who had way too many
No matter how my hair looked I was always jealous of the next persons “perfect” hair. At a young age I had a meltdown about my hair getting darker. A lady that is like my grandmother, CiCi, who was always super tan with perfect blonde hair told me she had a way to solve my issue. She told me that when I get older she knew how to fix my dark blonde hair with a little coloring. At that age I didn’t know anything about dying hair I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that my hair was getting darker. Between the cost and effort I never went to a salon to color my hair. I did find a much cheaper solution, which was blonde shampoo. The bottle said it was for all shades of natural, color-treated or highlighted blonde hair. It was advertised as helping keep your color, which was music to my ears. After many years and many bottles later my hair only seemed to be getting darker. With blonde shampoo not working I tried the next best solution, or so I thought. I later found out that lemon juice was more damage to your hair, only after I applied nearly a whole