Nine gray hairs

In spite of the fact that most of my friends began getting gray hairs while quite young, I've still never stopped believing that the loss of melanin in the hair was a "senior" thing. I'm not a senior, nowhere near. Yet, I've started to gray.

I've had one little white hair, right at the top of my forehead, since I was 16. It was my pride and joy. I thought I'd earned it for all my deep, contemplative thoughts. My trophy, standing out boldly against my dark chocolate hair.

Then, a couple of months ago, IT started. I found another silvery strand less than an inch away from the first, and it was long. It floated around in the breeze, right in front of my face, hovered for a moment before my eyes, and mocked me. I screamed and yanked it out, throwing it hastily into the trash.

I've got to dye my hair…

A few days later, three more of the shiny gray demons showed up next to my ear. Oh god, oh no, far too many to pluck out without going bald! Mind you, I lose a handful per day and haven't noticed a difference in volume on my head. I freaked out and checked for accompanying wrinkles while my hair laughed maniacally at the horror and panic it had induced.

Ack! right there! under my eyes! I'm a crone! No, this can't be! I'm not wise enough for the role yet!

I've got to dye my hair…

The day before yesterday, I found a matching set of the beasts over my other ear. The forehead hair was back, too, and had brought a friend. It struck me that if I were a man, I would be on my way to the delightful role of the "distinguished gentleman". Can gentlewomen be distinguished, too? Hmph, "no, Virginia", not by going gray.

I've got to dye my hair…

As someone so unconcerned with appearances that most of my time is spent running around and in jeans and t-shirts, without a drop of makeup, I have to be amused at my own vanity. I don't think I'll spend $30 on wrinkle cream, but,

I'll just have to dye my hair.

Or not.