Grey Hair.

Why me?

Stated by Wikipedia...."It is clear due to lack of pigment. The clear hairs are seen as grey or white because of the way light hits it. Grey hair typically occurs naturally as people age"

Granted, every day I wake up I tend to age. In number, but not spirit, mind you. Some say stress causes grey hair, but I am not stressed. I mean, come one people. I have the blood pressure of a corpse, I am spoiled rotten and tend to never make plans b/c I can roll with the flow of things. Does that spell out stress to you? Okay. Spastic might be one of the words associated with KC and her life, but not stressed. Two totally different things in my mind.

Well, I got one. I got a damn grey hair and I want to return it, along with a copy of my birth certificate, to the pigment fairy. She can see that I am only 30 and I don't need my hair color to be altered.

Here's a little back story about this one ugly hair. After a great haircut, at ULTA in OKC if you need someone, I rush home to show it off to my hubby. So, we chat, eat dinner, watch TV, blah, blah and I decide to get ready for bed. I am twirling about because this was my first hair cut since May and I really needed it. I don't normally "Need" a cut b/c I don't damage my hair per say. For those of you who don't remember..... my hair is stick straight, board flat, lacking in body- however you opt to describe it.

Well, on this particular night the light hits my head just right and ALL BE A SUCK EGG MULE!! Grey hair alert! Grey hair freakin' ALERT! This can't be. I just strolled out of a beauticians chair. She just ran her hands all over my scalp and she seemed to miss this wire of a thing attached at the follicle. How could she not have known it was there? For crying out loud it stuck out: it had the texture of a Jack Russel's coat, it has a slight wave to it and some volume! Don't get me wrong- I have always wanted those last two attributes, but not if I have to fore sake my color!

In an attempt to get rid of this reminder of the death of my youth, I grabbed at it, tugged at it, wrapped it around my finger and yanked on it. I even enlisted the help of some tweezers. Twenty five minutes later, wish a slight glisten of sweat on my brow, I came out triumphantly with the thing off my head, in my hand.

Then I crawled into bed, clutching my stuffed kitty cat and quietly wept over being an old hag. End of story. Sad day in my world. Don't tell anyone, okay?!?!