Alright, I get it! I am getting old. Is there a need to flaunt it in my face? I think not. Alas, mother nature feels the need to do just that.
It was one thing to have forehead lines at the ripe old age of 25 (must have been all of those summers in the sun without sunscreen---which I blame completely on my mother and not on my ability to escape like a slippery fish and run away screaming which was soon followed by screaming from the burning pain and cold aloe). It was another thing for weight to start staying attached to my thighs and stomach when it used to just melt away with one extra exercise session or starvation fest. And then it was another thing for these blasted lines to start going from the sides of my nose to my lips. What is that about? Am I a clown now? Seriously? Seriously.
And then a few months ago, I saw it--my first grey hair. Well, actually, it was white. And while it was on my head, it was not in my hair. It was in my eyebrows. REALLY? Really. At first, I brushed it off as light blonde. I mean it was the middle of the summer, and I had spent a lot of time in the sun (though be it with sunscreen-doing all I can to prevent more of these unsightly lines). Luckily, I could easily solve the problem of the could be, but I am going to believe it wasn't, white hair. I plucked it out. I mean, first of all I didn't believe in the old wives tail that "2 more will grow back in its place", and secondly, I mean what was I supposed to do---leave it there? I think not. I mean it was a white, but I am going to stick with blonde, hair.
Sadly, it appears the old wives tail was right, because a week or so later up popped two more, and they continue to pop up no matter what I do. Soon I am going to have to shave my eyebrows off and start a new trend for thirty somethings to draw on their eyebrows like a young,, but scary Joan Crawford. AHHHHHH!
Now comes the kicker....and I do mean kicker, because it is literally kicking me while I am down. Not only do I have more lines on my face than a walnut, thighs that jiggle like Jello, Bozo the clown lines, a saggy butt, and white hairs (I have come to grips with reality), but now I am turning 33. THIRTY-THREE!
I am not some person who swore they were turning thirty and holding. I am proud of my age and regardless of this post, how I look-flaws and all. Plus, with every year I have aged I have gain so many amazing things in my life...husband, Aubrey, Addison, and now who ever this is I am growing in my belly.
However, this all changed this morning. I was blow drying my hair, and there it was. A GREY HAIR. No way to take it for blonde. It was startling and depressingly grey. The funny thing was that it was totally not there yesterday. I mean no where to be found. Yet, here it is shining and silver atop my head. There was no hiding it. No mistaking it. It was loud and it was proud! So what did I do? I pulled it of course,and in a couple of weeks when two more pop up in its place all I will be able to say is.....Really? Really. Oh well I guess it is time to start dying my hair.