Gray, Gray, Go Away

A week later than usual—due to the poor timing of the Thanksgiving holiday this year—I anxiously arrived at the beauty salon to get my hair colored.  I was eager to tell my longtime hairdresser Karen that something went terribly wrong with last month’s touch-up, as gray popped up all over the place, even on my temples where just a couple months ago I didn’t recall having this eyesore.  I assured her that with an adjustment or two on her part, I was confident that this unwelcome hue could take a back seat to my golden-brown highlights or, better yet, go into hiding for another 10 years.   

My wonderfully talented and very diplomatic hair stylist smiled very politely and then, after a moment’s hesitation, reminded me that she empathizes; over time, she too has had to color her hair more often than she had in the past…therein was the truth, which she was gallantly trying not to have to spell out:  that as long as I age, there’s no stopping this wire-like silver presence from running rampant all over my head. 

Had I lighter hair—blonde—for example, maybe I would appreciate the gray complement, or, as my husband says, the sexy and sophisticated new look!  But, since it would present in such stark contrast to the nearly black hair I was born with, it’d be a stretch to embrace it as a natural transition, although it has been infiltrating my roots for some time now…to the tune of nearly 30 years!  I can still recall when I first took note of those intruders, shiny as holiday tinsel.  At that time, I truly believed if I could yank them out—albeit a painstaking process—one by one or give them the evil eye each time I passed a mirror, I’d prevent a mutiny.  

Boy, was I wrong.