Ever since late last year, I've been noticing intruders on my head.
They appear without warning, showing up overnight.
I'll be fixing my hair, looking in the mirror and thinking about the day ahead, when BOOM: I see the sparkly little fuckers up there. All smug and stubborn and waving me the finger.
Grey hairs!
I'll admit, in a way, they are kind of pretty. It's that bright, shiny silver kind of grey that looks like Christmas tinsel. But seriously? What the hell? I'm only 33 years old! I'm too young for this.
Then again, there is no official age when we all start going grey, is there? Some of us turn silver or go bald sooner or later in life than others. Then there are other factors like genes. And the amount of stress we endure in life can make us grey, which is pretty evident whenever you see before and after pictures of US Presidents.
This time when I came across the shiny bastards, I found two of them. One was the same one I yanked out last time, and one was in a new place.
But this time, I didn't pluck them out.
Yes, I'm actually going to leave them. I figure they're a badge of honor in a way. On the one hand, it's a terrifying reminder of my mortality. But on the other hand, it's proof that I've survived life long enough to even get grey hairs. After all, we can make it to old age or suffer the alternative. When you think about it that way, getting old isn't so bad, is it?
-SK
