Tuesday, May 23, 2017

There Is Only ONE Shade of Grey, and It Is Not Pretty





A couple of years ago, I wrote about how I was going grey, and how I was not ready to cope with or embrace this horrifyingly visible proof that I am racing into middle age, despite the fact that I still feel like I am somewhere in my 30s.




A lot has changed since then.




Oh, clueless Two Years Ago Mary, you were so silly!




MEEEEEE!!!






The first grey hair I ever had popped up at the corner of my hairline when I was 19 (yes, I said 'corner' because, in spite of the fact that it photographs sort of round and chipmunk-y, I actually have a square-ish face.  Like a horse or a Rubik's Cube), something I attribute entirely to a quarrelsome couple of neighbors named Bob and Josh.  Said hair was ruthlessly ripped out and tossed in the trash -- and, NO, ten more greys did not grow back in the spot.




When I was 25, the greys started showing up again, and I would pluck them out one by one.  As I was constantly dyeing my hair a variety of reds, blondes, browns, and blacks on a regular basis, they weren't really that obvious.




In the years since then, I developed a tiny little Bride of Frankenstein streak at that same left corner, that has been vigilantly kept incognito through the miracles of hair dye and root touch ups.




 




Last August, Jimbo dipped out on me, leaving me stuck alone with a pubescent Roo (moody, cranky, imperious, demanding, hormonal....fun!!), and since then the whole top front of my head has gone completely grey.




That fact probably would have gone unnoticed, but I decided to stop dying my hair in December, and the results are horrifying.




There are many things I cuss at Jim about on a daily basis, but the hair thing is a doozy!


I am so pissed.


I realize that blaming him is not very scientific, but I just don't care, because it is totally his fault and that is all there is to it.






Anyway, I decided to stop dyeing my hair, because I just felt like seeing what would happen. 


Here is what happened:


1. Shocked and appalled at vast chrome tide sweeping over my head.
2. Lexi has been increasingly vocal in her exhortations to cover it up.  I get dubious looks, raised eyebrows, and frequent remarks that are usually prefaced with, "No offense, Mom, but....".
3. My sister expressed shock at the very noticeable change, then suggested I embrace the silver trend that is STILL going on (what? WHY???), then flat out said, "You NEED to dye that."
4. My boss can't stop her eyes from flicking up there several times a day.  Yesterday, I helped her carry some stuff out to her car, and when we ventured out into the sunlight, she said, "Damn, girl!  You need to color that. Now."
5. I have become oddly irritated with the lack of acceptance for what is a normal, natural part of being alive.  Lexi's reservations I can completely understand.  She just lost her Daddy, and she associated grey with aging and the idea of me getting old is not comfortable for her.  She is only 10, so I can humor her.  But everyone else?  Seriously?  I can't tell if I truly look like a haggard crone, or if it's just a lifetime of superficiality and judgy-ness coming back to haunt me.
6. I came up with a plan....






"Have you gone completely insane?  Are you out of your mind?  Seriously, that is just not normal.  What is wrong with you?"




"Mom, no offense but....EW!!"




Those were the reactions to my Groovy Master Plan for my silver strands.  The former was from my boss, the latter my child -- the 2 people I spend more hours with than anyone else.




Hmmmmmmm.....




So here's the plan.  I am dyeing my hair red one last time for the summer, well, twice, actually, as a root touch-up will be mandatory sometime late July/early August. 


On my birthday, I am going to gift myself a super fantastic wig (possibly 2, but they are SPENDY!!!), and I am going to shave my head.


I could totally rock this look.  Right?






I will wear said wig(s) until my hair is grown out enough that I don't look like a Moonie or a Hare Krishna, or whoever it is that has to shave their heads and wave tambourines while getting married in ceremonies where there are 20K other couples, and I will just live with whatever grows out.




I think it's a solid plan. 


During my many battles with my unruly mop over the decades, I have frequently expressed a desire to do exactly that, but never followed through.  However, I honestly feel like now is the time to do just that, and see what happens.




Lexi is, of course, totally against it.  After her "EW" reaction, she asked me what I would do if it blew off on a windy day.  I told her I was pretty sure they make some kind of wig adhesive, like Polident, but for scalps, not gums.  I also told her that I didn't care much if it did, as long as it didn't fall on the ground and get dirty.  She just rolled her eyes.




She has since launched a campaign that may as well be titled "Remind Mom of All the Places Harlow Could Yank Her Wig Off"
The grocery store.  Gas station.  Thanksgiving dinner.  Christmas morning.  In front of my boyfriend (WHAT boyfriend???  And, yes, there will be a blog about that coming soon!).  4th of July Parade.  Etc, etc, ad nauseum.


How Lexi envisions my future with a wig.



My boss hit the roof and has threatened to take pics and post on social media any and every time my wig goes askew.  I repeated my Polident-for-the-scalp plan -- surely they make something like that, right?  She just rolled her eyes.




I don't get it.


Is it that bad of an idea?  It isn't permanent.  I cant imagine those same reactions if I decided to get a tattoo, and those things are FOREVER. 
Is it the baldness?
The wig?
The fact that I am not going to mess with whatever grows out?


I am not sure, but I am hopeful I can stand my ground in the face of resistance, because I think it's a GREAT idea!!


Anyway, that's the plan for now.  I type that with the knowledge that, should I actually end up 'coupled', the plan may need a revision, unless my Ginger Fox is DTF a baldie.


Stay tuned.


Pics will follow.

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