Well, the end is near my friends--so say hello to Armageddon. It's happened. I cannot believe this day has come.
I found my first gray hair. [sob] And, needless to say, I'm struggling to accept my fate as a true geriatric. I mean, I knew the jump from 27 to 28 felt ginormous but throw me a bone, here. I am NOT handling this well.
The incident occurred the other night as I was brushing my teeth before bed. It went a little like this: "Ho, hum, another day has come to an end. Life is good. Fa la la la. I cannot wait to fall into a blissful slumber while contemplating the many possibilities for the future........hold up, what the......OMG!!!!!! NATE!!!!!! WHAT IS THIS?!?!"
Yes, that many exclamation points were shrieked with words created from all caps. It was true panic, my friends. I'm pretty sure Nate thought I found a mutant rat scurrying across the floor or something, considering my terror-stricken tone. But oh, no. It was much worse.
Shining like a frickin beacon of light was a colorless strand of hair sticking straight out of my part. It was about three inches long and very course....even frizzier than my normal deviant hair follicles. Yes, this in particular strand was basically the devil reincarnated as it laughed in my face: "You silly girl. You thought your youth would last forever? Mwah ha ha. You are rapidly morphing into a little old lady with gray hair, which means dentures, saggy papery skin, Depends, eating a 4 o'clock dinner at Dennys, and high-waisted elastic pants will soon follow. Would you like your power scooter now or later? Enjoy the progression, my dear."
Of course I immediately started ripping at the bastard hair, cursing and staring in disbelief. But the hair would not let go of my scalp. So I brought out my secret weapon: my pink Tweezerman tweezers. Take that, bia. You are dead to me.
Upon closer inspection, I tried to convince myself that this might just be a bleached out version of my naturally brunette locks. Perhaps the sun shines down on this particular spot of hair and makes it lighten up....to the extreme? Or maybe the last time I got highlights [ahem, two years ago] somehow affected the innermost root of this hair and washed away every bit of pigment? Have I been overly stressed and not even noticed it? The hair couldn't be GRAY, could it?
To which Nate replied, "Nope....that's definitely a gray hair. In fact, it's basically white." You can imagine the look he got from his loving wife, can't you dear readers? "I really have no sympathy for you," he says to me. Then he points his finger towards his own tresses as if to state the obvious. He's endured his own hair-related struggles in his twenties and I never quite understood his heartache. Of course, I think he's an extremely attractive bald man....what with his perfectly shaped head and everything. He pulls it off well and managed to remain hawt despite being follicularly challenged. Bruce Willis ain't got nothing on my hubs [but I'm biased, of course].
But me? With a full head of gray hair? ICK. I could never make that look glamorous. And I'd never be able to stomach the monthly bills from a hairdresser if I was forced to color my hair all of the time. I'm low maintenance! I don't cut my hair for at least 8-10 weeks at a time because I'm too tight with my money! I will not be able to handle consistent coloring....you know how much that costs, right? [insert tremoring here]
As predicted, I spent the rest of the night moping around the house and trying to come to terms with this milestone in life. And I just couldn't help but wonder.....if my hair is already throwing in the towel, are my ovaries shriveling up and shutting down, too? But I need those puppies someday!
Of course, I know lots of people have random grays and their lives don't stop instantaneously. I'm sure some readers out there have experienced this type of crisis* and lived to tell the tale. And I bet you are going to tell me to sack up and pay for some highlights to conceal the inevitable demise. And I will tell you that I will sit in that overpriced salon with a grimace on my bitter face. Shortly after you'll probably hear me complain about teenagers these days, and how I used to walk 5 miles to school each day.....up hill.....in 3 feet of snow......
I'm so becoming a bitter old hag, aren't I? I blame this climate, for sure. There's always Wisconsin to blame.
*you know that I'm being overly dramatic on purpose here, right? I don't actually consider this a major life crisis or anything. I know I'm lucky to have hair, and to have only found one gray....so far. This is just one of those slightly embellished stories I felt fit into the blogosphere quite nicely. I do have some sense of reality in this aging brain of mine, no worries. Life is so much more interesting with added drama, don't you think? :)