There are a few things in life that weigh over eurotrash's conscience as she goes about her quotidian minutia; one of these things is the age-old, mid-spring question that eurotrash annually asks herself: "should i go blonde again this summer?".
Memory role call ensues. Is it really the case that mojitos with a hint of mint made her shine a bit brighter because her hair was lighter that night in atrani? Was falling in love that summer so much easier because her sunkissed glow was matched with the starlight in her hair and not in her heart? Does the Gucci green and red stripe demand platinum locks? Suddenly her summer memories become nothing more than the sound of "ue, bionda" rolling off the tongue of an oh-so-charming neapolitan boy as she crosses the piazza, donning faceshields and of course, blonde hair. I mean, don't get me wrong, gorgeous dark-haired eurotrash girls exist, but when so many of her summer dreams are accompanied by visions of blonde, it truly becomes hard to refuse this light temptation.
So, eurotrash does what she does every mid-spring: makes a hair appointment and never EVER looks back.
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