One gray hair. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Well, I’ve counted at least twelve in the front. They stand straight up in the morning and salute me in the mirror. They’ve got a mind of their own and don’t follow my brown strands. They ignore the direction I comb them. They ignore the way the curling iron turns them. A conspiracy is blooming on my head.
A couple years ago I colored my hair. Red. Until one day I broke out in a horrible itchy rash. Yup. Allergic to the less toxic salon stuff. So I’m going gray. Oh, well…it’s not so bad. Really. At least I have hair and won’t be going bald from evil chemicals.
Besides, gray is beautiful. Right? It’s a part of life. Right?
He’s cute and gray.
She’s beautiful and gray. But I bet she has a line of make-up artists and hairstylists following her around. Oh…bet she’s got someone following her around with a fog machine, too, camouflaging wrinkles, you know.
She’s totally accepting it. I believe she still believes she’s twenty-something. Look at those long gray hairs. Wow! Wonder what she’s itching in there, too?
Have any of you accepted your grays?
Anyway, happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!
Shelly
P.S. Remember to save a library.
