January 7, 2013
Plussed and Standing
This is a story wherein I am plussed and take a stand. Prepare yo'self.
I was able to take a few days off after the holiday again this year and during that time I entertained Lulu and her little peeps, cooked and ate, celebrated my 36th birthday, and adjusted to being another year older.
In the past year, my skin has gotten drier and my lens prescription has gotten stronger, but who's paying attention to that beeswax? I wasn't... until this week.
Something else happened in that adjustment category, too. The other night I went into the bathroom to remove my stronger contacts and apply my dry shampoo before bed. After I sprayed the spray into my roots, I noticed that it was a bit wet at the crown of my head. Dry shampoo is dispensed sort of wet and then dries almost immediately as the warmth of your hands rubs it into your scalp to absorb oil. So, I rubbed it in like 'whoa!' but the silvery-colored wetness did not go away. Hmmm. I leaned in closer.
There at the top of my head were 3 hairs, gleaming with wet, white dry shampoo. How annoying! I'd already rubbed the business out of my roots to work it in. Why wasn't this stuff dissolving? So I plucked one of those hairs out and gave it the once over. I rubbed and scraped at the strand and noticed that the white dry shampoo only covered the bottom 1" of the hair, down to the root. The rest was brown. Also, it did not rub or scrape off. Interesting that it would not dissolve or rub away.
So I plucked a second white hair out and examined it as well. Again, only the bottom 1" of hair was white. The rest, dyed brown. I rubbed and, nothing.
Wait a second.
How long has it been since my last visit to the salon? Has it been about 5 weeks because an inch of growth is about 5 weeks-worth for me. And, and, and... ohmygod.
I took a deep breath and pulled that 3rd hair out of my scalp. I held all three of them in my hand and glared at their white roots.
Uh huh. You're thinking it. I know you are. Because it was at this point that my knees felt a little squeaky and I hollered for my husband and he came running. I made him promise not to laugh or poke fun, or bring it up ever again, amen. There in the bathroom where I also noticed I ate his booger that one time, I showed him my first gray hairs.
I mean, can I even call them grays? They were not gray, people. They were stark-assed WHITE. Gleaming. Shining for the world to see right there in the front of my freaking head. Apparently when my husband had his sweet vision of me in beautiful silver hair, my follicles took that as an order and the pigment vacated itself immediately.
My birthday didn't really bother me this year from an aging standpoint. But this - this bothered me.
As a woman this also means that going to the salon for an all-over color is no longer a luxury for me. Those 3 hairs undoubtedly have 100 friends that I haven't found yet. [Egads!] All over color is now a necessity that I need to work into our family budget, and I feel a little bad for that. Because no way in freaking hell am I going to just sit here and go gray at 36. Ahem. This also means that I can no longer wait 8-10 weeks between visits to stretch a dollar, either. I have dark brown hair! And apparently I'm going STARK ASSED WHITE, Peeps. I have to be on the lookout now. And no, I don't want to lighten to avoid this, though now I understand why women go with highlights. Ugh. The whole thing just has me bothered. I am plussed! I am SO plussed!
Makes me want to highlight pink again and pierce my nose. Or wear tee shirts with dress pants and spiked booties. Get old, my ass. I'm not ready yet!