Dear Diary,

                       This is the new year, so I really should say my name for future generations to marvel at my works. My name is Georgia, hello future generations! I should also describe myself, even though I might put my photo at the front of this book anyway. My name is Georgia, I'm 14 years old and my hair is the colour brown...or it used to be.

See, for christmas I asked my mum for some hair dye desperately because my hair is so desperately boring and dull and no boy will want to run their fingers through dull, brown hair. Not that I really, really want a boyfriend, it just would be nice to beat Franchesca Harriet at my school, she gets every boy just by clicking her fingers. And she can act. And dance. And sing. Although she's not very nice. Anyway, back to this hair dye. After arguing for it alot with my mum and dad, they finally relented and got me some ruby-red hair dye. On Christmas Day as soon as I'd finished opening my presents I rushed upstairs and started my magnificent transformation from boring old Georgia, to fiery -looks like lava is flowing out of my head- George! Hmm, actually I'm not so sure about that nickname anymore, looking at it written down. I read the instructions of the hair dye to the letter, tested myself (I didn't want to end up with an inflated everything like in those horrific stories in Take A Break and various other real life magazines) waited (it said wait 24 hours but I could NOT be bothered) then started running the dye through my hair. As I rubbed the dye into my hair I imagined myself strutting into school swishing my hair as though in a hair shampoo advert and everyone being blinded by the beautiful rubiness of it. Is that a word? Rubiness? I hope it's not a rude word...Then shock horror, I took the towel off and to build up dramatic tension I slowly turned towards the mirror with all my hair in front of my face to swish back like on the adverts. Then facing the mirror and swished it all back like I was a mermaid out of water, looked in the glass and-


My hair was completely, utterly tangerine. I screamed, I sighed, I sobbed and washed and washed till I swear my hair started falling out. But alas, it was far too late, my hair was the colour of fruit. Never had I seen anything so...so, orange in my life. And still the tangerine plagues my head, an orange, hairy rash that won't disappear. I stared at the hair dye again, as well as the terrifying words 'Permanent' it showed pictures of the colour my hair would turn in the future. Something I had failed to miss because I was concentrating so hard on reading the instructions. That'll teach me about vanity. Oh diary, the future doesn't look bright, it looks tangerine! 


 Next colour is Iron-Grey...:-)

The End

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