Pre-Christmas I had my my haircut. It was a red hot, dry, brittle mess and needed some TLC. I just had a wee trim and was joking with my hairdresser saying "If you find any grey hairs, tell me."
And then I expected her to say - "Oh Lexi, there's no grey hairs."
But alas, Kellie responded with "Oh yes I did just find one."
I was agog, I was aghast was my hair turning into an old lady's at last?
I almost fell out of my chair and asked her to show me this ruthless grey. She hunted around and found it. I asked her to pull it out. She declined. I told her to show me where it was - and I yanked that sucker out.
Just two weeks later, I asked my sister Sarah to check if I had any unruly greys. She found another.
This is Bad News Boulevarde.
And now this week? Two more of those crazy grey bastards. Assimilating with the rest of the brunettes as though they're meant to be there.
What to do?
I'm having a quiet sad-on that they're out there, Mulder. I'm quietly going grey, and I hate it. I've studied why I hate it - because it's beyond my control.
I know. I am Captain Ridiculous. With grey hairs.
