I'm not particularly freaked out about getting older. Call me morbid, but when you lose two friends before the age of twenty-five, the idea of growing older and living a full life is less freak-out inducing. I've got a few fine lines on my face now and two deeper grooves (one between my eyebrows--I need sunglasses) and one beside my mouth (I need to sleep sitting up?), but they really don't bug me that much. The zits that I keep assuming will disappear as I get older and then they don't, the little bastards, keep me feeling young in that respect.
However, in the last few months, grey hairs have begun popping up on my temples. I actually grinned at the first one: "Aw, look, my first wisdom badge." Snort. The second one was a bit less grin-inducing, but it still was barely a blip on my radar. I've got about ten now. And my radar's blipping.
I considered plucking them out, but honestly, my hair has never been that thick and the idea of losing a bunch of it (particularly hairs with body, as my greys seem to be) is not appealing. I considered just letting them be. They aren't bothering anybody. They won't cause me to get sick. They don't whisper to me while I'm dozing off about terroristic plots.
They are sorta bothering me. I think it's part of my whole, "Oh. Huh. I've been sitting around focusing on my kids and house for the last few years and I sort of let myself go. Let's fix that." thing. Like, I try to shave every other day now. Or actually wash my face at night. Or not eat an entire bag of candy in two days. I wear makeup at least four days a week now. It's all very exciting. So maybe I should go ahead and color those suckers so they can keep up with the rest of the makeover.
The thing is, I'm not really into, you know, hair maintenance. Truth be told, if I thought Will wouldn't fall over dead at the sight of it, I would cut off all my hair right this minute and revel in the ease of a pixie cut. But I like my husband, and so instead, I wear my hair in a ponytail all the dang time. It's fine, but it's hardly stylish. And that's OKAY with me. I'm hardly stylish, myself.
I dyed my hair exactly once in the past, when I got a little crazy with the Sun-In bottle. I was about as blond as a person could get AND I was brown as a berry and my hair was in this crazy asymmetrical thing with a rat tail. I...I don't like to talk about it. I call it "The Summer of My Hair Insanity." Shudder.
After that, I swore off hair dyeing. Because it made me crazy. I have always looked with wonder at those of my friends who get their hair colored. These ladies, whom I love, are always getting highlighted and lowlighted and streaked and while their hair (generally) looks Teh Awesome, it's exhausting for me to consider. Nevermind the wallop it would put on my budget.
That's the other thing holding me back: coloring your hair is fricking expensive, yo. For the price of a color and cut, I could buy a bajillion papers for card design. Or a set of reflectors. Or a few mini-defusers. (These are all photography things. Check out my term-dropping.) Or, you know, a lot of bread and milk. For a budget-conscious, eco-friendly, cultural-norm-eschewing gal, coloring my hair seems to be a glamorous deviation from Heatherness.
Like, on the days when I don't go to the hospital, I'm going to look really faaantastic with my colored hair as I weed the turnip rows. People in Kroger will be all, "Who is that ravishing thing in the holey sweatpants cheering over a sixty-cent coupon for dishwashing soap?" How are the pictures I'm editing going to fully appreciate my lustrous mane?
I don't know. It just seems sort of silly to me to spend a lot of time on my hair. Crazy. Wasteful. Un-fricking-natural.
And yet, those grey hairs.
Those ten grey hairs don't seem really natural to me either right now, particularly as I finally feel that I'm settling into the person I was meant to be professionally. Is that person grey-headed? She feels...not grey-headed.
I don't know...what do y'all think? Should I color or not? Do YOU color? If so, why? Do you use a salon or a bottle at home. (I'm hopeless at this kind of girly mess. Heeellllp me.)