Shades of Gray

It's finally happened. I've found a gray hair. At least, I think I have. It's a little hard to tell, since my hair color is compliments of Miss Clairol. But, all good things eventually fade, including hair dye, allowing me a glimpse of something I hoped to never see.

The day started out like any other, one in which I hurriedly pulled a brush through my hair as I prepared to leave (late) for work. Something caught my eye, twinkled a bit in the mirror, and I leaned in closer to investigate. Was something reflecting off my head? Did I get glitter in my hair? No, haven't used that since kindergarten, so that's not it. Did I get water on my head when I was brushing my teeth? No, that would make my hair wet, not shiny. Could those vitamins I've been taking finally be making a difference? Um, probably not only to a single strand on the top.

I continued to ponder what was wrong with my head. The hair shone brightly under the fluorescent lights of my bathroom. It was more obvious near my scalp and seemed to be a little more normal toward the end. Maybe I could pull it out. I might not be able to figure out what it is, but I could sure make it go away. I dug for my tweezers and set about trying to isolate the single offending hair. As it turns out, this as not a simple a task as it might sound. After several tries and coming dangerously close to a bald spot, I decided that my scalp is just too delicate for this kind of surgery. Or I am.

I returned to studying it, changing positions, using a magnifying mirror, shining a flashlight on it. Only after puzzling over this difference in a single hair for a good ten minutes did it occur to me. Could this really be my first gray hair? But that can't be right. I've always had great hair, not gray hair. Aren't the two mutually exclusive? I'm only 41. I'm too young for gray hair. I don't feel like I should have gray hair. Yet I could come up with no other explanation for such renegade tresses. It was time to ask an expert.

As it happened, my next hair appointment came up quickly, so last week, I announced to my hairdresser that I thought I'd found a gray hair. She had already started to cover my hair in dye, so there was no chance for show and tell. Instead, we played twenty questions. Well, since I have an awesome hairdresser, it only took one question. "Was it shiny, especially at the root?" she asked. How did she know? "Oh, yeah, that's a gray hair, alright." She nodded. "It's only one hair," she insisted when she saw my face. "You're not exactly going fifty shades of gray, yet." That, however, is not the point. Don't the hair gods know that they're not supposed to come after me for at least another ten to twenty years? 

I returned home and tried again to locate the offending hair, but now that I was freshly coiffed, it was impossible to find. Nasty hair. Thankfully, modern technology and a talented hairdresser mean it will never see the light of day.