I've Never Been Accused of Being Vain, But

I've always had great hair.
I mean, really.
Normally, "looks" just don't concern me.


So yesterday my hairdresser found 3, count them, 3 gray hairs.
Now I have on occasion seen a wirery white hair
springing to my attention in the mirror & I've simply
plucked it.

My hairdressor says No! One must cut them at the base.
She promptly addressed the matter for me, snip snip. Problem solved.
The visual problem of grayness, that is.
Not the actual problem of untimely ageing.

I complained: "This isn't fair! My mother isn't gray.
My hair color
should never go gray. Never."

She replied: "It isn't your mother. It's your father's side.
Your paternal grandmother."

I felt stunned; I felt as if I had just been diagnosed
with a horrible bone-marrow disease.

"My grandmother, Ione, was practically bald by 65." I wispered into the mirror.

I have found a fear worse than gray. Joy.
But I am still so in denial.
Simply way, WAY, too young.

AND I never found a blouce yesterday. My eyes were
asulted by pastels. Not ready to give up my winter black.
So when I wake up Tuesday
and have to get dressed for work~

I am visually falling apart.