I apologize in advance for the drunken sailor-like language contained within this post.

• Time: approx 8:45 AM

• Location: bathroom mirror

• State of Mind: neutral

(leans in close to mirror to apply Neutrogena tinted moisturizer)

Wait. Whoa. Is that?…. Wait. Lemme (shifts strands around at hairline). Is it??? (shifts more strange). No. It’s not. It can’t be. (more shifting). OHMYGODITHINKITIS.

(brings entire face within 1 centimeter of mirror)

It IS a fucking gray hair!!!

NO. FUCKING. WAY.

(stares at mini gray hair in mirror with look at panic/horror/excitement?/no, horror)

WWaaaiittt a minute. This might not be a legit gray hair. This might just be a left-over strand of white-stained hair from when I used that cheap dry shampoo called SShhhttt or DDssstt or…wait…it’s PPsssttt…which is dumb.

It is totally and entirely possible that that’s exactly what this could in fact be. Lemme put a little water on it to rub the potential dry shampoo residue off the strand, returning it to its rightful deep brown hue.

(wets finger, rubs hair, no dice)

FUCK.

Hhmm.

Is it cute? It is small-ish and stark white..ish. That could be cute, no? Like maybe over the course of the next few years I’ll develop a chic white streak across the top like…hhmm…Cruella Deville? Crap. Who else… OH! That woman from What Not To Wear! She’s chic-ish. Good. That’s one. Who else?????

Oh…
Right…
My Mom…
and my Mommom…
and my great aunt Mel…

AND NOW IT’S HAPPENING TO ME….and I can’t stop it…

And this obviously means I’m going to get corns and/or a hammer toe too, which is A. completely and totally disgusting and B. means I’ll never be able to wear cute high heels again. NEVER AGAIN.

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy???

(takes deep breath)

You know what?….

(examines graybie again)

Fuck it. I’ll just dye it. Oooh. RED. YES! New stage of life, NEW ME! I’ll dye it, like, oooohhh DEBRA MESSING RED. Yes. Totally. That is totally what I will do. I’ve sort of always wanted to do that anyway, so now I have a valid excuse.

(stands back and attempts to envision oneself as a redhead)

HHmm…I wonder what that’s going to run me? ‘Bout $200 a month? No. Duh. You idiot. This is L.A. It’s probably more like $300 a month….ugh….$300 a month to cover up my real age…my real self.

Crap. $300 a month is a TON. That’s like car plus car insurance payment money. I can’t afford that!

OH MY GOD I DON’T WANT TO BE POOR BECAUSE I’M PREMATURELY GRAY!!!!

Wait.

Am I prematurely gray? I’m 28.5. Is that GRAY HAIR AGE?! Is it totally and completely appropriate that I should have a gray hair directly in the center of the front of my hairline?

How do I find this out? Google? Can I google this??

(runs into kitchen, grabs iPhone, runs back to bathroom, Googles “appropriate age for gray hair”, clicks on WedMD, reads…)

“Salt and pepper, silver, pewter, charcoal. Whatever you call it, gray hair happens to all of us at some point. But why do some people go gray in their 20s, while others don’t see the first sign of silver until age 50? The truth is, there is no rhyme or reason to it.”

No rhyme nor reason. It just is what it is….which is gray, potentially-but-not-definitely prematurely.

Well. As they say when something totally sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it: it is what it is.

(stares back at mirror, fully prepared to greet the very first gray hair with a bitchy “hello”)

Wait.

Where is it? (shifts strands around at hairline). Did it??? (shifts more strange). Is it???? (more shifting).

HHhmmmmm.

(brings entire face within 1 centimeter of mirror)

I think it’s gone.

HHmm…..

Well. PHEW! That was weird.