Pass the Salt

So I never used to color my hair. As you can see in the picture, I have had blonde hair for a very long time. But, I should have known that my blonde hair would go the way of my father's. He was born a towhead, and by his twenties, it was black.

I wouldn't go so far as to say my hair went that dark, but it was mostly dirty and hardly any blonde. As a point of pride, I told myself that I was fine just the way I was. I didn't need to go the artificial route just to try to look better. I held off until probably my mid-twenties, and all of a sudden, I thought, I am not on a level playing field here. My hair looks like crap next to all of these women with shiny golden or red highlights.

So off I went to a colorist, and got my hair weaved every three months on a fairly regular basis. I prefer weaving because it looks more natural than straight highlights or frosting. It also tends to last longer than either of those procedures, because usually there is no "zebra" line while your hair is growing out. There is a subtle difference, but if it has been done well, not many people can tell without really examining your head. And unless they are in back of you in the supermarket line, most people just don't have that kind of time. It's more expensive, though, but it's worth it.

I stopped coloring my hair during my pregnancy, because I felt comfortable not doing it, and also due to the fact that I had difficulty even driving myself five minutes to the store due to my blood pressure medication, much less sitting in a chair for an hour or so. Regular visits did not ensue after the birth either, because all the money we had was going for the mortgage and diapers.

And really, it wasn't totally necessary. It was just mostly brown.

Until recently. I have noticed lots of sproingy silver hairs cropping up around my temples. Again, I should have known. By the time my dad was forty, he was mostly salt. The only saving grace to this entire thing is that the hair is a true silver, very shiny and actually kind of pretty. My grandfather has this wonderful head of beautiful silver hair, so I'm hoping I will look the same way.

Just not as early as 35, thank you.

The other day in the car, I made a point of showing Hubba-hubba all the little silver hairs standing out quite clearly against the darker lowlights of my hair. I joked and said, oh, you'd better let me color my hair, or everyone will think you've married an old woman. And really, it was just a joke.

That is until this morning, when I was tweezing my eyebrows and noticed a silver eyebrow hair.

I'm making the appointment tomorrow.