|See anything alarming yet?|
I've mentioned many times on the blog that I color my hair. When I was younger (which is the best time to make bold declarations, just FYI) I swore I would NEVER dye my hair. I heard stories of Great Grandma Maud (I think it was Maud) who was completely gray by age 40 and knew that was going to be my fate, too... and thought that was okay.
Fast forward twenty years or so, when, Christmas 2009, Mom snaps a picture of my 37-year-old self and, while my hair isn't actually completely grey yet in real life, it TOTALLY looks like it is when the film is developed.
And you guys, I got vain. I had my 20-year high school reunion coming up the next summer, and I was like, Homey don't play that.
So began a period of "dye auditions," and by the time that reunion came around, not a grey hair could be seen on my lovely brown head. (I noticed, by the way, that while all the guys were balding and/or in various states of grey, the girls--all except one brave soul--were completely grey-free. Go figure.)
Anyway, I guess the moral of this whole sad tale is that vanity is a powerful instigator, and that I'm not so immune advertising. Damn you, The Man!
But recently I've started to wonder why the hell I'm doing this to myself. My hair grows pretty quickly, so every six weeks or so (sometimes sooner), I'm back in the chair doing it all over again. I'm lucky because my husband is awesome and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty, i.e., he's the one who dyes it for me, but it's so super boring. For both of us. And the dye makes my scalp itch. And I can hardly breathe when it's going on my head because of the smell.
And honestly, who am I fooling anyway? I'm clearly a woman in my early 40s, everybody knows this, and if I happen to have more grey hair on my head than brown, who cares?
I guess that's the main question: Who cares? When I started announcing (because I thought that would help me NOT go back on this... I'm still very vain, you see*), the first thing people generally would ask was, "What does Eric think of that?" Um, Eric gives zero craps. He wants me to be happy and healthy. My hair color isn't really a deal breaker as far as our relationship goes.
Ahem. Feeling a rant coming on. Reeling it in. Drinking more coffee. That's better.
I've decided that the most rebellious thing I can do as a 41-year-old is to just look 41. My roots are definitely huge at this point, and I can see a lot of silver in my bangs especially. We're WAY past when I would normally grab the box of color. I was tempted at first to get some more stuff poured on my head that would strip the dye all at once so I didn't have to mess with growing it out, but my hairdresser says it's really toxic and doesn't recommend it, so I'm on the "just get my hair cut a lot and hope for the best" mode of coping.
I'm finding the roots don't bother me as much as I thought they would. I'm not really into hats or ponytails, but who knows, maybe when it gets really bad I'll suddenly decide I look darling in both? :)
And I guess the moral of all THAT is this: I'm embracing my age, people. Wish me luck.
* Pregnancy taught me that I'm vain, motherhood taught me that I'm selfish. Fun lessons, I tell you what.