Dear Martha,

I’ve been through a living hell, experienced a nightmare.

Yesterday I went to my usual beauty parlor to get my hair fixed. All though I was born a blond, my current color – which also happens to be blond – needs a little help on the way. So, every other month I visit the beauty parlor, not a big deal really.

My hourly visit ended in a disaster. I have to admit I could have made the mistake myself, no doubt. That’s why I pay my visits to the beauty parlor. Unluckily for me, my usual hairdresser had quit during the summer, but since I like her, I though “How bad can the rest of the hair dressers at the saloon be? I’ll just let someone else fix my hair”.
Huge mistake.

It turned out not only did the girl die my hair into some kind of albino hairdo, but also actually burnt the scalp. I was devastated when I left the saloon. I looked liked one of those glamour models, someone who actually thinks that joining the cast of Big Brother is a career move.

But there were more to come. As I walked home later that afternoon, depressed and with low self-stem, an little old lady stopped me at the sidewalk, asking: “Are you Paris Hilton?”. I dropped the little faith I had left in people still seeing me as a New York Times-person rather than National Enquire. “I mean, with the hair and the hat”, she added. She must have seen my look, cause she quickly went on: “Oh dear, that’s a compliment! I love Paris Hilton!”.

Paris might be popular to many, but she isn’t really my kind of spirit animal.

So that, pretty much, was my day in short. And I’m telling you Martha, that hairdresser will never come to crafters heaven.
Her handicraft sucked.

Love, Josefin