I noticed my first grey hair the week before my 30th birthday while getting ready to see Madonna in concert (for the second time!) in Miami. I panicked; dreading meeting my two gay friends (cliché but true) in the lobby and having them tease me. So I just stuffed the scraggly, errant hair into my head of curls, swiped on some lip-gloss and turned away from my hotel room’s magnifying mirror.
The boys didn’t even notice and the gays usually notice everything…
Five years later I’m lucky and happy to report that my grey hair only has three or four new friends. My sister can’t believe I don’t pluck them. But why pluck them out, when I can poke them back into the rest of my curly hair?
So on this day of turning 35, I’m checking for greys. The few I’ve got don’t justify a dye job. But I’m not shy to use a mascara wand across them to see what it looks like if they didn’t exist.
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