I am the first to admit it -- I can be a little high maintenance. I have been known to politely throw a minor tantrum or two and over the past few years, disgruntled after years of service that hadn't lived up to my high standards, I took to coloring my own hair. It wasn't terrific, but for the most part I knew what I was getting. Then last weekend something went horribly awry. I wanted Auburn and instead got a horrendous muddy cherry that looked like I had used Manic Panic a couple weeks before. I called out sick from my office job (there was no way I was meeting a client with my wanna-be Goth do), donned a bandanna and desperately paced Newbury Street in search of an open salon that I didn't already dislike... James Joseph was open and the girl at the front desk was kind enough not to laugh in my face. In fact, she was comforting, attentive and understanding -- I was sold.
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