The Epic Fail Of My Hair.

There comes a time in most girl's lives, where they desperately want their hair cutting. This may be due to a number of factors; children getting too close with scissors, wearing too much hairspray then having a cigarette, being over-eager with the straighteners or maybe it's just been a really long time since you last had it done. My reason was the latter.

Now when this happens, nothing is going to stop you getting it cut. Even if it's a Sunday and no where is open. No where except the place in the middle of the shopping centre that's a 40 minute drive away. A drive that includes motorways which you have yet to go on because you only passed your test 2 months ago. This is what not having so much as a trim for 10 months will do to a girl.

When I finally arrived at said hairdressers, I got a little bit of a shock. Instead of being greeted by the usual 'too pretty blonde' that has become my paradigm of hairdressers, I was welcomed by a beefy, tattooed lady with black hair that was shaved on one side. This made me smile, because I knew that if we somehow fell into that awkward silence that strangers suffer far too often, I could simply ask her about her numerous tattoos. In hindsight, that smile may have been my undoing.

For those of you who don't know, my job is to help people turn their money into pee. I was telling this to the beefy, scissor wielding lady, when she asked how I manage to deal with all those leering, drunk men. My answer was simple, I pretend to be a lesbian with the girl who is in fact my best friend. That's when the following conversation ensued:

I think I pulled.

However, even though I turned her down, I was very pleased with my final result. My hair looked miles better than it had before. I thanked her and went on my merry way back home, but not before buying some lovely hair dye. I don't know what happened then. I followed the instructions perfectly, but instead of a deep red like I wanted, I got this:

And that's how I became ginger.

Addict much?

Today I painted my nails red.

A boring topic for a blog, I agree. Until you realise this isn't any red. This is Coca~Cola red. Actually branded with Diet Coke on the side.

That picture pretty much sums up my reaction when I first saw the little bottle gleaming away on the shelf in boots. And don't let my clever bit of photo trickery fool you. It is a tiny bottle. 10 ml infact. Yet that day, it may as well have been 50 foot tall with a light show pointing at it, because it was the only thing around that mattered.

Now I know what you're thinking. Am I really so brainwashed by the Coca~Cola company that I simply have to have everything with their name on it. The simple answer is, yes. Yes I am.

Do I not know about the children working in their sugar farms. Yes. Yes I do. But I have a question for you self righteous people. If you were 7 years old and had to work, would you rather make trainers, or pick sugar cane? Coz that's the choice those kids have. A choice given to them by coca~cola. They do so much work for charity and I think they get a bit of a bad press just because they're a massive corporation. I mean, if they were soooo bad, would Santa appear in their ads?

I think not.

P.S. No, it doesn't taste like coke. Trust me.