Today I almost plucked a gray hair. Then I noticed it was not alone. Plucking one was fine, but plucking several seemed silly and on the way to a losing battle.
And really, who would notice? Because the gray hairs were not on my head. They were… ahem… south of the equator, if you know what I mean.
There I was. Forty-eight years old. Having covered up the gray on my head for longer than I can remember. Suddenly faced with a new sign of aging. A surprise. Really. Both that it was happening to me and that it was happening at all. I mean, other than me here, no one talks about… well… you know.
Sure, sure. Movies joke about Brazilian wax jobs. But no one talks about dye jobs! Or going gray gracefully down there!
And I suspect you are sitting reading, if you are still reading, and shaking your head in wonder that I would even post about such a thing. But after so many posts about eating and weight and learning from my mistakes, and yada, yada, yada, a little lightness about my recent discovery seemed just the thing to take my mind off other parts of my body. And food. Who wants to think about food and “you know what” at the same time.
Now if this didn’t help curb your appetite I don’t know what will!
So now I have one more thing to add to my ever-growing list that I am showing signs of aging. Right up there with wrinkles and sagging jowls and bad feet and worsening memory. Maybe I wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t have both gray hair and zits at the same time! Ah, the indignity of it all. But as the expression goes, it beats the alternative.