Exactly like the chick on the stand in Liar, Liar, I'm a brunette. Or, you know, Madonna.
During the COVID 19 pandemic, I actually looked like a brunette for the first time in years because everyone was encouraged to stay home as much as possible.
This cast light on my lousy marriage. I looked like a brunette while married too.
I must not have had much of a life while I was chattel property because both before and after my marriage, I usually look like some shade of dirty blonde and people sometimes squee at me about "I love the highlights you've added!!!" and I don't know what to say because I did not add highlights.
I probably took a salt water bath or went swimming or increased how much walking I was doing which exposed me to more sunlight.
I had black hair at birth and after a washing or two, it turned extremely blonde. My mother told tales of running her hands through my hair and being unable to see her gold wedding ring because it blended in with my Shirley Temple curls.
This may be a CF thing. My son with CF was also born with black hair which thrilled his blond-haired, blue-eyed father who desperately wished he had black hair himself, so he named our first born for his black hair.
That child is now a very dirty blond or light brunette, though like me he had extremely blond hair as a tot. And within days of being named for his black hair, like me a few bathings had him looking blonde.
I'm currently at high altitude and have been for about 18 months. My hair looks mostly platinum blonde which has been neat because it hides the grey patches. I probably had more grey hair in my thirties while at death's door and I find it funny that at age sixty I am currently platinum blonde through zero effort of my own because my hair has a mind of its own and likes giggling at me.
Platinum blond means it is straighter than usual from being fried by the strong sun at altitude. But it still is wavy at the root, which gives me a Tina Turner vibe instead of flat, thin hair you see in a lot of people with straight hair.
If I successfully relocate to someplace lower in altitude like I'm hoping to do, most of my hair should get darker and wavier. I have a straight patch somewhere and a few grey patches, so not all of it will do that.
My hair is sometimes funny in a laughing at me not with me sort of way. Other people annoy me with their excess interest in my hair and their obsession with what I've "done" with it.
I've done as little as possible with it and the more I ignore it, the happier we both are.
I try to have a decent haircut. I usually don't really wash it. Rinsing with water only. I only occasionally use shampoo.
I can't remember the last time I owned a comb, brush, any doohickies of any sort for putting in my hair or any products like mousse or hair spray. The last time I owned a hairdryer was in poverty housing when management cut the heat off in June and it was stupidly cold but local shops weren't selling space heaters. It did not get used to dry my hair, much less style it.
I was very sick for a long time and for a decade or so I kept my hair short like a military recruit because letting my hair grow made me sicker.
It's still short but not that short. My face looks better when it's fairly short, though I sometimes aspire to something chin length and I had that briefly a couple of years ago before being illegally evicted and finding that problematic while camped in a tent again.
Those kinds of observations are generally not socially acceptable as casual small talk. Just get me my burrito and don't ask about my life. I don't know how to fit in socially. My life isn't anything like yours.
It never, ever is.