It was a day like any other, until I found a hair that looked like no other.
I pulled that sucker from my head immediately. There was no way it was going to grow anymore in those nanoseconds - pluck - and it was out. Out for me to study it more closely.
I couldn't tell in the light if it was grey, but I remember feeling anxious. I took that hair, careful not to loose it, and found a spot in my wallet, popped it in safely so I could bring it home to Matt so he could study it further.
I am a nutter. I'll cheerfully admit it. But that grey, well it struck me for six, and fo' shiz, I wasn't going to go down without a fight.
So when I got home and remembered that lone 'grey' hair in my wallet, I pulled Matt aside. Thankfully Matt has a keen eye for colour and nipped my fears in the bud. It wasn't a grey, it was a stray blonde hiding in my brunette 'do.
Weeks later and I told Matt that at first sign of grey, I'm colouring my hair. Terrible I know. I can take the wrinkles. Can't accept the greys.