Blonde? Brunette?

Like my grandmother before me, I have no clue what my original hair color is.

My hair was white blonde when I was a child, then turned brown, then blonde again when I was in the marching band and out in the sun all the time. When I was college, I dyed it brown for the first time, then went back to blonde. In the past eight years, my hair has been dark blonde, light blonde, dark brown, light brown, red, and black.

Two summers ago I went to the salon and asked the stylist to please figure out my natural color and put my hair back the way God intended it.

So she did. And I freaked out.

Because here's the thing: I've always classified myself as a blonde. I've been blonde for probably five-sixths of my life. Varying shades of blonde, yes, but blonde nonetheless.

My stylist found my hair color by looking at my roots. Every six weeks, I would have the roots Madonna had, circa 1985: an inch-and-a-half of dark brown growth, and then a big mass of blonde. Every six weeks I would bleach those suckers out, so my hair was all the same color again.

And now my hair was brown. Brown brown brown brown brown. It was too dark, and also, what excuse was I going to have for the weird things I said? You cannot brush off your ditziness with, "Oh well, I'm a brunette." It just doesn't work.

So I asked her to please put it back. "I'm not ready," I said. "I'm gonna have to work my way up to brown."

Eventually, I did get comfortable being a brunette, and I didn't mind it at all; I even like it, as a matter of fact.

EXCEPT.

Now, when my roots grow in, they are BLONDE. Blonde blonde blonde blonde blonde. It is like the Madonna thing, only as a photo negative.

And I can't help but think that my hair is doing this on purpose. "Ha ha!" it says. "Fooled ya!" Because my hair, apparently, feels it can just do whatever it wants. (I don't know where it gets that attitude).

But you know, I am okay with the current roots issue. When they start showing up gray, THAT'S when there's a problem.