Give me a head of hair, long beautiful hair

We’re all getting older. Each tick of the clock brings changes in our bodies, our emotions and our beliefs. One day a democrat, the next a republican. One day buying clothes at the Gap, the next at Silverts.com. My dad used to say “wine, women and song has become Metamucil, the old lady, and Sing Along with Mitch”. (I’m showing my age.) I had a conversation with my daughter some years ago; she wondered why I didn’t color my hair. I had a stepmother that curled, permed, colored and teased her hair literally to death. She was almost bald in her 50’s. Terrified me. My hair can be anything it wants to be as long as it sticks around. I told my daughter that grey hair on the head was nothing to be ashamed of, I could account for every strand: children, ex-husband, arrogant bosses, missed busses, not enough money, too much to do, not enough time. I said that the grey on your head wasn’t the worst part, that ALL your hair turns grey. She was horrified. “No way,” she said. “Way, darlin’.” Wish it wasn’t so. There are places on your body that hair dye should not touch. I notice my eyebrows are nearly all grey now and grow at a frightening pace. I envision them growing like alien vines and wrapping me up in my sleep. Then, there’s the odd chin hair that you catch sight of when you move your head a certain way and the light hits it. My favorite beauty tool these days is a tweezer. I won’t even get into other body hair (the hair that drove my daughter to despair).