I got my hair cut the other day and was getting all excited about the new do. And then she pulled up one little hair and asked if I wanted her to cut it out.
Cut what out?
This gray hair.
WHAT?
I seriously thought I would at least hit 30 before I started getting gray hair. Ah well. Life happens, right? I really feel I should be more upset about this...I've decided it's all a matter of perspective.
A few years ago I discovered I have alopecia areata. A lovely auto immune disease in which your hair falls out in patches. Sexy as hell. I lost over half my hair and my husband had to rub steroid cream on my bald spots each night. My nickname became 'Patchy.' My husband and sister both offered to shave their heads in spots. So comparatively speaking, gray hair isn't all that bad. At least it means I have hair!
2 comments:
My husband is going gray, just lightly, right above his ears. I love it, I love knowing he's the one I'll grow old with, and yet at the same time I mourn the boyish curls he cut off years ago, when we "became adults" and got real jobs. Sigh. He's 31. I haven't noticed any grays on my head yet, but I know they're coming. Planning on going gray gracefully myself.
I understand; hair seems to be such an expression of our identity. And maybe it's not as much about the hair as it is about knowing it's a marker of the youth we've left behind. I have determined that if I am going to begin graying then I'm going to increase the laugh lines as well!
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