Gray matter

It's on my head. The gray matter. Not surprising to some of you who know me. No, not my brain or manner of thinking. Although, there are days I wonder how I manage to get my underpants on without falling over. Anywho ...

In July of 2012 I decided that coloring my hair every four weeks to hide the silver roots sprouting forth was far too much. Hated it! Loathed the cost even more and that was with box color. L'Oreal 'cos I'm worth it and all that jazz. My dearest friend had taken me to a Chicago salon for color correction because box color and my lack of knowledge really botched up the roots.

Those bright red roots were not intentional

During the voodoo this adorable young man had to perform to bring me to a more natural state, he insisted that I never do box color again! I promised. The salon maintenance does not agree with my meager pay. What's a poor single mama to do? Go natural.

After months of explaining that I wasn't failing in touching up my roots but intentionally doing this ...

I wore hats ..see the roots on the temples? Distinguished? Not so much

I pulled it back ... and thought it looked cute (gag)

And through the magic of photography ....

I'd had it cut a couple of times. Once, I went to the salon brave enough to let the stylist just chop off the remaining brown hair. She whined lamented that earlier in the week she'd made a woman cry when she took her hair from shoulder length to super short. My argument was that hair grows. I swore I wouldn't yell or cry or take it out on her. She hemmed and hawed until I grew bored with it and caved. She left me with half and half hair. I walked out upset that I let her convince me to throw in the towel to my original plan. It's my damn hair. It grows!!

A couple of months later, after being frustrated and coming close to getting out the clippers and just giving myself a high and tight, I went to the salon, requesting a different stylist, and insisted this new girl cut off the brown. With verve she did just that. My only request was that she not give me the typical middle aged woman hair cut. You know what I'm talking about ... I hope. My request was simple: The style should be funky. The ears must not be cut out.

This is the result. Lots of platinum. I know!!

I've been sporting this new look for a couple of weeks and am still taken off guard when seeing my reflection in the mirror. Not lying, I feel older. The wrinkles are still minimal yet when a woman of 70+ comes in our store I wonder if people think I am her age. It isn't easy letting go of vanity.

The other day it dawned on me that the new look wasn't causing a turn of heads. Meaning, men don't give me a second look. Perhaps if I went to the senior center that might occur. It's not as if my dating opportunities suddenly took a nose dive when my gray was revealed (I haven't had a date in years.) With that epiphany, it helped me embrace the aging process natural to me.

The bottom line is that I am who I am. Accepting myself 'as is -- no warranty' is pivotal step in life. I've just waited half a century to look in the mirror and be happy with what I see.