Over the weekend I found one.
On Saturday night I found a solitary grey hair. Of all the places to find one, it is probably the worst. I found – well Boyfriend actually did – a grey hair in my down-below-region.
At first the discovery did not bother me. I find dark, greying men very attractive. I often tell everyone, “I can’t wait to go grey”. As the weekend progressed, it irked me more and more. Yes, I like the idea of going grey, but I welcome grey hair with open arms; not greying pubes.
I had it all scheduled you see. My mother is dark and my dad is fair. Neither of them started greying before the age of thirty. I thought the same would happen to me, but nature does not seem to respect schedules. My grey day arrived four years ahead of schedule.
It is speculated that hair can turn grey overnight due to extreme stress. When I think about it, last week was quite stressful. I once read that Marie Antoinette’s hair went grey the night before her execution in 1793. Perhaps, we can agree to put it down to stress.
I revealed my discovery to my friends on Saturday night. It provided much revelry. My friend, whose business supplies hair salons in the UK, informed me there are places that provide services in bush dying.
Imagine being that concerned with youth that one would colour greying hairs. I would never do such a thing. I would rather dye.