I've got 20 minutes left on the timer. My roots are hearty, yet my scalp burns, a result of switching from my normal creme developer to a liquid one. I went into this expecting a higher level of lift, not this searing level of distress. I consider myself tough in the face of beauty. After all, isn't beauty supposed to be pain? Alas, I feel I may not make it through this time. All I have left to give to you is my legacy, a legacy of a hair color written throughout the years. Let me tell you the story of how I got this blonde. Pull up a seat. Lean in close. Don't worry about the toner fumes, don't mind the death rattle.

So, once upon a time, many years ago, I was a brunette. A dark brown-haired pixie cut of a girl. I had gorgeous hair; it suited me fine. I was like a dark witch with blood red lips. The red lips, though, can ingest the strangest curses.

She came to me one clear, muggy July day. I found myself all day on a cattle farm, knee high in waders, stepping around the cow patties. It was only later when I was alone in my room, with a thimble's worth of wine, dry and drained, when my attention became attracted to the daily news. I pulled open the paper, and by kismet alone, I landed on a coupon for L'Oreal Feria hair dye. Feria, Feria, Feria... the name blew into my ears and out betwixt my lips. In my drunken state, I knew I must find her, especially for $3.00 off.

Within my wine time, the day's countenance had turned from fair to stormy. Stil, l I gathered myself up, already yet pulling up my muddied waders, to find her, to find Feria. I found her a few blocks away at the local CVS. Many visages of hers peered out to me on the shelves. I only had to pick the right one. The second I saw her, Very Light Blonde #110, I knew she was mine. I just didn't know the price (minus $3 off), and how long I would have to pay for it.

I took her home with me, and at 9 p.m. applied her spell onto me. What I did not realize at the time is that the wine had applied its spell to me too. What was supposed to be a nap extended when I slept throught the 30-minute timer. Rather, I awoke at Five a.m. to Feria's hushed screams... "wash me off, wash me off!” I groggily touched my hands to my hair to feel her visera consuming my scalp a good eight hours later. In a terror, I ran to the tub and did all that I could to rinse all that was left of my beloved Feria off of me. I watched as the last of her circled my drain in a clear ring of loss. I grasped at the water and felt nothing. I called her name aloud! FERIA! FERIA! When I heard nothing I mourned. Later, when I finally dragged myself out of bath, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair had turned from dark brown into a neon shade of yellow.

She had left me, but her presence wasn't lost. I knew then she would continue to haunt my crown as long as I would let her.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Oh shit, I made it! Time to rinse and repeat, motherfuckers!