A frivolous post on being grey

 This guy is my new hero:

He doesn't care that his hair is grey.

I do.

Of course, his is way longer than mine.  But, I still look cuter in a skirt.

At the risk of being repetitive, I'm going to discuss my hair again.

I know you ladies will understand.

It's very odd that having hair bothers me more than not having hair.   At least when I was bald, I looked like a person undergoing chemotherapy and nobody could blame me for how I looked.  Now though, nobody knows I had cancer treatment. 

People believe that I choose to look like this.  That I buzzed my hair to 1/2 inch and let it be grey because I like it that way.   Maybe they think I decided on a super short pixie cut because I think that is what flatters me, or that I imagine myself to be Halle Berry.

Hopefully, they know I'm female.

Now, I realize that the world is not focused on my hair.  I understand people are not thinking about me, and in fact, likely don't notice me at all.  I certainly don't walk around judging the haircuts of strangers, and I would expect that nobody is doing that to me.

But, that doesn't really matter, does it?.  There is the term "bad hair day" for a reason.  I don't think men have this feeling,  but it's pretty much a universal experience among women.  Having a day when you can't tame that curl, when your hair looks dirty and you don't have time to wash it, when you are overdue for a cut but have been too busy, or just having that morning when no matter what you do you can't get your hair right - well, that "bad" hair can sour our world and make us uncomfortable all day. 

And, I have really bad hair, and I will for a while.

Not only is it short man-hair, but it is starting to vaguely curl.  I had curly hair before but it was long and thick so it was mostly a wave.  

And, it was a fabulous red.

Pretty soon, I'm going to look like a sheep.

My world is off because of my hair.  I went shopping recently and felt uncomfortable in Bebe, Express and Cache.  I have been shopping in those stores for years. They cater to younger women than me, but they carry my size (few stores do) and at least have clothes for people out of their teens. But, searching the racks at Bebe, all I could think about was my grey head.

I no longer belonged.  They knew it, and I knew it.

I'm a fast driver.  When I go past people, I wonder if they are surprised that this grey-haired old lady is in a rush?  I've certainly decided not to get behind people because of the color of their hair. 

There are times when I fear it's not really the hair that is bothering me.  It's what's now showing under the grayness. I have never seen so much of my face in my entire life, and  I'm pretty sure that's not a good thing.  Let's just say I wasn't meant to enter a beauty contest.   We women use our hair as a screen to hide behind.  On a bad skin day, or a shy day, or when we need a break, we can lean our heads forward and let our locks cover our faces. But, now my screen has been ripped away and I feel exposed, for all the world to see.  The funny thing is I was always the one who didn't care if a cut wasn't perfect (although I never allowed it to be shorter than shoulder length).  "It'll grow back" was my mantra. 

"It'll grow back in two years" doesn't quite sound as optimistic.

If I was as pretty as Mr. Jay, maybe I wouldn't mind the grey.

But, I'm not. 

He puts his makeup on way better than I do too. 


I may pop on on my stylist this week and see if she thinks there is enough to dye.  If I have super short dark hair, at least I can pretend to be French.  If it's too early, or if I'll have to do my roots too often, I guess I'll try to adopt the relaxed attitude of that guy in the skirt. 

At least, when summer comes, we'll both be cooler. 

That's something.