43 Grey Hairs And Counting. Rude.

Just when did it become okay for grey hair to just show up unannounced on my glorious afro? I mean, they’ve fucking packed serious luggage — this is not a weekend visit.  My grey hair has a lazy-boy, ESPN Deluxe cable package and fucking PBR’s on ice.  

Uh. Rude.

I doth protest.

Just when I’m getting comfortable with my fat, Winter arrives earlier than expected, in all it’s white splendor.  Er, grey dreariness.  
I have been plucking my grey hair.  There.  I said it.  I can feel my fellow feminists shaking their heads in dismay.  I feel like a soldier who’s deserted. Here I am, encouraging all of you to embrace yourselves no matter what, while I find a new patriarchal mandate to obsess about.  That’s just great.

This feminism thing, it’s kinda hard.  As in all things, I aim for perfection (one of my many vices, or virtues, or vices. I don’t know). So feeling like a C-average feminist is totally humiliating. But I figure honesty is still the best policy when it comes to my blog. So maybe my comrades will give me a pass on this one (fingers crossed).

These grey hairs, they aren’t ugly.  They’re just surprising.  And I know I can’t keep plucking them.  At this rate, and despite how much hair I have, I could be bald in a couple of years. And that, I am not ready for.   

Plus I always imagined I’d have a perfect grey fro, like model Renee Davis.  My coiffed curls framing my face in sophisticated style, making me look demure and cosmopolitan.  

This is how my grey hair DOESN’T look.

Yeah.  It hasn’t gone down like that.  It grows in disparate directions, staying close to the crown, and tries to hide behind the other hairs, so I can’t find it and pluck it.  Sometimes I win, and am washed over with the weird pleasure that only popping a pimple can rival. But other times I get frustrated,  give up and let them live another day.  

This dance, however, is getting laborious and dull.  I figure I have two options:

  1. Dye my hair, or
  2. Let it do what it do.
As tempting as it is to dye my hair, (and I’ve been thinking of doing it for a bold fashion statement), I don’t want to succumb to the pressure that accompanies women in their late 30’s and early 40’s, living in Los Angeles. The kind of pressure that would have me at the salon every 4-6 weeks for a $150 touch up.  Do you know what I could do with $150 dollars?  I can buy 2 pairs of designer leather flats at Nordstrom Rack.  

Shoe shopping heaven. 

I guess it’s an easier decision that I thought. Thank God for my shoe obsession.

Ciao for Niao,
Pia