I pulled eight white hairs from my fringe this morning.
I’m sure they weren’t there yesterday. Indeed, I’d place money on the fact. Not MUCH money. But certainly some money.
But there I was on this morning’s train, nonchalantly putting my make-up on after the gym, enjoying the sunshine, and idly thinking about big plans for my upcoming (well, upcoming in the sense of two months away) big birthday, and, as I pinned my fringe back, my eye was caught by the glinting of a thick white strand.
Hair. White hair. My hair. Bad hair. Boo.
This in itself was not a problem; it was a surprise, but not a problem: They come every now and again, these aberrations, these personal-horrors, these freaks of hairline. One hairs. White hairs. My hairs. Bad hair. Booo. At least only one at a time. Phew.
So the other one next to it was a bit of a surprise. The rules of being an aberration clearly state that you’re not supposed to pop up next to another aberration. Or, oh, hang on a tick, millimetres away from a third one. Shitshitshit.
Once I started looking, I saw glints of white at every angle, and with a sharp semi-painless pull (”yowfuck!“) they were gone.
Eventually I snapped my mirror shut and pulled the pin out of my fringe, hiding my roots away. If I couldn’t see them, they were not there. Because they certainly weren’t there yesterday, I can say that for absolute.
Now though? Aberrations everywhere. Something must have happened overnight, or in the last few days, at least. A temperature change? Aliens? Stress? Or perhaps some chemical in the water I’d so recently been sticking my head under post-gymming. Yes, that must be it.
Though getting worried while writing this, and on the train again, I’ve pulled out my mirror to check that I got them all, and Yowfuck! Bother. It’s the light on this train then. That’s what’ll be doing it. Bloody light. Oooh! Yowfuck!
Bother.
It only means one thing though - or one thing for certain:
- I need to buy some hair dye, or I’m going to go bald.
And don’t come at me with that ‘Grow Older Gracefully’ crap. I’ve never done anything with grace in my life. I sneeze like a moo-cow, flirt like a drunken nun and regularly trip over my own feet. Grace to me is a foreign language. Grace is a dance to which I don’t know the steps. Grace is a nation that has never stamped my passport.
I’ve never been friends with Grace, and I see no reason to start now. Let disgrace be our watchword.
Someone pass the hair dye.
And get me a vodka and tonic while you’re up, young’un.
Grace is a little girl who didn’t wash her face.
White hairs do that. Bastards. You probably won’t see another one for two years or more.
Comment by z — 8 March, 2007 10:24 pm
do you ever get those really fine, reeeeally long ones that spontaneously and magically appear in the middle of your forehead of out of your neck..?
Definitely weren’t there the night before but somehow grow an inch and a half overnight.. so thin that you’re just so sure they can’t really be yours and must have been stuck on by a random moomin in the night?
Or is that just me..?
:?
Comment by nutty mummy — 8 March, 2007 11:04 pm
No, nutty, I really really do. Just one, just in the middle of my under-chin. I was going to mention it in the post but jsut stopped myself short (but no more!…)
did you see? I finally answered your questionny thing!
Comment by anna — 8 March, 2007 11:09 pm
A white stripe though? Surely that’s cool in a Cruella DeVill kind of a way? Or a badger? Badgers are wildly cool, and rarely dye their hair.
Perhaps my style icons need updating.
Comment by Olivia — 8 March, 2007 11:26 pm
Random moomins in the night!
Like it.
Band name. Autobiography title. Yup, like it.
Comment by Bob — 8 March, 2007 11:34 pm
Pah, you have a few years on me and I bet I have about 300 grey/white hairs on you. Sigh. I have no intentions of ‘growing old gracefully’ either at, err, 22.
My hairdresser says do NOT dye your own hair. I say, have fun spending all your money in the hairdresser if you don’t dye your own hair.
Comment by Fi — 9 March, 2007 12:06 am
I found - and plucked - a pure white hair in my feckin beard FFS. What’s that all about? I’m already “a bit thin on top”; at 12 years old* I’m far too young for this ageing malarky.
*give or take 37.
Comment by Farty — 9 March, 2007 12:23 am
Are you sure it wasn’t just a pigeon? Like when you were on the way home or something?
Comment by Problemchildbride — 9 March, 2007 1:20 am
Or even on your way out? Pigeons are everywhere.
Comment by Problemchildbride — 9 March, 2007 1:21 am
As a teen and twenty-something, my hair was Billy Idol blonde, red, green, blue, pink, black (VERY hard to un-do black!!! That was my Goth phase), and then I settled into a flattering shade of red very close to my natural colour. When I found my first grey hair shortly after turning 30, I decided to NEVER dye my hair again, and I haven’t. More than 10 years and loads more grey hair later, I STILL get asked for proof of age when buying alcohol! My theory is that worrying about grey hair gives you wrinkles, and wrinkles are much more of a give-away to age!
Comment by Maria — 9 March, 2007 1:41 am
Hmm… I say grow old gracefully, but not greyfully.. many years since I first plucked out that first grey strand… I decided highlights were the thing to “blend” those first little beggars, pretty successful for a while. Then I did the DIY (dye-it-yourself) thing, now I unashamedly let my 21 yr very sweet male hairdresser work his magic. Like you, all my grey is at the fringe and it felt like a big neon pointy sign flashing GREY GREY GREY. All my friends said “What Grey??” which I felt was terribly unsympathetic and, lets be honest, shortsighted of them. Kind though. Incidentally, why are the grey hairs so thick and crinkly? Weird. I am now test driving a lovely blonde shade,which is brilliant for forgetting the grey as I now worry more about my dark roots. It’s funny how people forget what colour your hair once was actually .. my father-in-law who has known me for 30 yrs is now sending me Blonde jokes and apologising (clearly he has forgotten my deep russetty brown natural shade!) Love the blog by the way.. :-)
Comment by Dizzy — 9 March, 2007 2:03 am
I know the feeling. A friend of mine was giving me a lift somewhere a couple of years ago, and I pulled 17 grey hairs out of the left side of my head (because I couldn’t see the right side in the wing mirror). I hadn’t even noticed them before that.
Comment by rachie — 9 March, 2007 7:34 am
I used to have fair hair and a deep red beard (obviously Viking stock). When my beard (only my beard, mind) started to go grey, with absolutely no reference to me whatsoever, I shaved the bastard off. There - that showed it!
Maybe that’s your answer - never mind buggering about with dyes and stuff - just whazz the whole lot off, and no-one will ever notice the grey. Easy.
Comment by AndyB — 9 March, 2007 10:26 am
I keep seeing very light hairs and wondering if they’re grey or just very light blonde bits. I shall regard them as the latter, until they start taking over. Sometimes it’s useful to be blonde.
Comment by Pigwotflies — 9 March, 2007 10:55 am
I was watching BBC2 late last night (I know, I know) and there was a program talking about this yoga guru who’s the latest big thing to come out of India. A yogi for the ipod generation. Anyway, his technique for keeping your hair black is to rub the fingernails from one hand against the other, in a ‘filing’ type motion. If the full head of black hair and bushy beard he’s sporting is anything to go by, and considering he’s probably about 160 years old, it might be worth a shot. :-)
You can read about it on the BBC website here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/6240681.stm
Comment by Marcos — 9 March, 2007 11:40 am
I’ve got too many millions of them to start pulling them out. The mornng of my 19th birthday was when I noticed the first crop. I blame being run over by a bus.
And yes, I would dye them too, as I too have no grace. But I am also a lazy cow, and that wins. Dyeing one’s hair is an enormous faff. Down with faff. Up with badger-streaks. Morticia, eat your heart out.
Comment by Clare — 9 March, 2007 12:48 pm
Nah. Just catch a different train!
Comment by Damian — 9 March, 2007 2:06 pm
Actually, aberrations do seem to go in pairs. Take this morning, one misty and dimly-lit bathroom mirror and Rudolf the red nosed reindeer staring back at me. Not just peeking, but proper in-your-face staring. There it was, at the tip of my lovely little nose: a spot. A red spot. I demisted the mirror in the hope that it might make Rudolf bugger off and… calamity! Just below the red spot is another red microspot. At that point I covered everything with a double helping of slap and promptly walked away from the mirror. I may well look like Mr Blobby but I don’t want to know.
Comment by Ariel — 9 March, 2007 3:20 pm
Oh, you ain’t known fear until the morning you stand in the bathroom stark naked, glance down south and - EEEEEEK! Try applying hair dye to THOSE grey hairs :-)
Comment by Sophie — 9 March, 2007 5:36 pm
*runs off to work bathroom IMMEDIATELY*
Comment by anna — 9 March, 2007 5:55 pm
Trust it wasn’t too traumatic an experience?!
Comment by Sophie — 9 March, 2007 11:18 pm
As I started going grey when I was 23, you have my sympathies. But the thing that got me was the lines suddenly appearing under my eyes.
Goddamn wrinkles no less. One day I had lovely smooth eyes, the next…a depleted bank account as I searched for an anti-wrinkle eye cream that did what it said on the well designed packaging and didn’t give me conjunctivitis.
Comment by Roses — 10 March, 2007 1:28 pm
They grow back :(
Comment by Debster — 11 March, 2007 7:09 pm