Another Day in the Life of an Aging Woman - The Sequel

I found a grey eyelash today.  I had to nearly smash my nose up against the mirror to confirm my discovery.  Then I feverishly tried to cover it with mascara but that silver sheen kept popping through the black I loaded onto it.

That’s not to say that I haven’t found silver hairs poking out of other more discreet places.  They actually sell dye for that unmentionable place – in an array of colors.   But I’m not diving to those depths of conversation as much as I might like today.

Oh, I’ve been battling the silver head hairs for years now.   But they are gaining on me and pop through the hair color quicker.  Okay, I know.  They don’t pop out of anywhere.  It just means my hair is growing faster than the cost effectiveness of the dye job.  Okay, okay, I should be happy for that.  The last five years have seen my hair diminish to the point that baby barrettes were not holding the whole kit and caboodle together.  I was the perfect candidate for hair club for men and don’t think I didn’t do some web research on hair replacement therapies.

So, I am really happy that my hair has come back and is growing again.  Yet, I don’t get to fully appreciate the beautiful job Usama does on my hair for very long.  I don’t understand why we can’t just pay for the two inches at the roots dye job every few months.  The middle and bottom parts of my hair are just fine.  It’s just that nagging silver raccoon tail running up the middle of any part I put in my hair that pisses me off!

The one aging “perk” that I would enjoy is the slowing of hair growth on my legs and underarms.  I have aunts who say they haven’t shaved in 30 years.  And why can’t the hair on my legs go grey?  It would diminish the frequency of shaving (i.e. It wouldn't show unless you got close up to my legs.) And I don’t see anyone getting that close to my legs any time soon.  My husband can’t see that close anymore so it doesn’t matter to him.  And with the silver popping up everywhere, I don’t feel so sexy anymore so you won’t see me sashaying up to some handsome man and saying, “Hey baby, what’s your sign?”

old grey mare

Couple that with the numbed up half of my mouth day at the dentist the other day and the subsequent drooling afterwards, and all I will see are the guys back ends as they run for the hills.  Which I can now see since I have gotten my new glasses.

Men look so sexy with their graying temples.  The silver streaks through their heads perfectly like it was done in the salon.  Women end up looking like the old grey mare. Then again, guys DO start growing hair EVERYWHERE ELSE other than on their heads.  So I guess justice is poetic at times…

I don’t know what I would rather have happen – these gradual “oh, my lord” moments like today, or waking up one morning to the new and fully aged me.  If I survived the heart attack that discovery would bring, then I could concentrate on acceptance and continue the rest of the process gracefully.  And pray God still likes me during the long and arduous road trip through sags, bags and wrinkles.

Nah.  The only prayer I am hearing right now is “Get Thee to the Salon.”  Amen to that!