I want to be blonde.

I made this revelation earlier today. I read a bumper sticker that said "Blondes have more fun." That got me thinking. Do they really have more fun? They have an excuse for doing stupid things and they get dates. Both of which I don't have.

I'm Stephanie Plum, the brunette known throughout Trenton as the bombshell bounty hunter. And I don't think the bombshell part is because of my looks. I have a reputation for blowing up cars, finding dead bodies, and being a general pain-in-the-ass and really sucky bounty hunter.

And as of today, I was going to be blonde.

I read the instructions on the kit, then read them again. Last time I had done this, I had it done professionally and my hair came out orange. Orange is not as fun as blonde. I took a deep breath and tore the package open. I mixed the powder as instructed, and I squeezed my eyes closed as I started to apply the mixture.

"I hope this works. I hope this works. I hope this works." I muttered over and over again.

I sat on the toilet as stared into the mirror, watching my hair. Nothing happened. Kind of like watching paint dry. I couldn't stand it anymore. I set a timer on the oven to beep in precisely 30 minutes, and sat on the couch. I flipped through TV channels until the horrible beeping sound of the oven told me to go rinse. I entered the bathroom and looked at my hair. It was hard to tell, but it looked like it was working.

I rinsed out the dye with Ranger's shower gel. Little did he know, but I had stolen some in my own shampoo bottle and taken it home. It was now multipurpose: shampoo, body wash, and I occasionally used it to scrub my hands.

I towel dried my hair, and looked in the mirror. Not bleach blonde. Not blonde-blonde. Not even light brown. My hair had turned a …green! Not an on-purpose shade of green, but an awful way-funky greenish, brownish blond.

"No, no, no, no!" I whined, and scrambled for the box. This must be some sort of mistake.

I skimmed the box and my eyes stopped, dead on a bold warning. Do not shampoo for the first 24 hours. Doing so may cause discoloration. I sank to the floor. This could not be happening. I am thirty-three years old. I have work in the morning. I am having dinner with my parents tomorrow night. I can't do these things with green hair. I have to fix this.

I grabbed my SWAT hat off my dresser and stuck it down hard over my head. I grabbed my bag and swung the door open. Lula stood on the other side, hand positioned to knock.

"Well, lookie here. I was just coming to get you on account that it's Saint Patrick's eve, and me and Connie were going to go out drinking. Looks like you're already dressed for the occasion." She hollered, and her breath smelled like she'd already started without me.

"Connie's waiting in the car."

I helped her get back to the car, and then squeezed myself into the tiny backseat of Connie's sports car. "Geez, what happened to you?"

"Just shut up and drive." I muttered, and Connie pulled out of the lot.

It was going to be a long night.

This is my first fic in a while. I thought I'd throw this up just for kicks. I might continue this one, but for now it's a oneshot.