I haven’t spent all of Holy Week in deep introspection…I noticed last night my FIRST gray hair. For about ten seconds, I had this feeling of “wow, I really am getting old” but it soon morphed into delight that the hair was actually a beautiful silvery white. After having been golden blonde for most of my childhood, I had to accept the unwanted fate of most adult blondes…dull, mousy, if-I-stretch-it-I-can-still-call-it-dirty-blonde hair. I now have hope that my ‘final’ hair color will be the color of sparkling snow, rather than dishwater gray.
It’s really not any news at all to discover an almost 36 year old with her first gray hair. My husband has been slowly acquiring the very handsome salt-n-pepper look since his early twenties. And who knows how many gray hairs I have had that have gone unnoticed in my mix of dark blonde, brown, reddish, and highlighted hairs?
It was confirmed to me that this is not very interesting news by the reaction of my husband (he is, of course, my gray-haired elder by 5 months). He came around the corner, truly half-asleep, to hear me ask excitedly (and very awake-like, which annoys him tremendously at 11:00 p.m.), “Hey, you want to see my first gray hair?” “Hmmm, show me in the morning…(yawn, yawn).
So, lucky you, you get to be the recipient of my exciting news. I promise that I won’t suddenly start wearing lots of purple clothes, comfortable shoes, and saying insensitive-but-forgive-me-I’m-old comments. (Okay, okay, I know I already wear comfortable shoes, but I still promise all the rest.)