I have some very distressing news, dear reader:
I found a gray hair. Yes, one silvery filament among the strands of raven and burgundy. One goddamn gray hair that probably has someone’s name etched into it. Things that went into my head when, at 4am, I glimpsed into the mirror and spotted the offending strand:
1. The episode of Sex and the City where Samantha finds a gray pubic hair, titled “One”. Never saw it? It is one of the best episodes ever. This scene is a fantastic comedic moment in a pretty heavy episode involving Charlotte’s baby issues and Miranda’s heartache.
2. The Urge Overkill version of the creepy ode to barely legal girls. Yes, I know, I’m in my 30s, I shouldn’t really be considering myself a girl, but I admit that I’m in a somewhat arrested state of development, a late bloomer that never even kissed until I was 18! So yeah, this has been playing in my head since early Tuesday morning:
Seriously, being a woman and aging is fucking weird. All of the expectations of beauty, maturity, gender roles…I don’t know how I feel about it. My 30s have so far been a time of great discovery and growth, but I’ve never really felt like I’m in my 30s. This just makes me think about the fact that when my mother was my age, she had me. Her third child. Like, am I a slacker or what?
I’ve always said I’d grow old gracefully. I’d take every wrinkle as a sign of victory. I am not taking this gray hair or the loss of elasticity in my skin as gracefully as I thought I would.
How lovely to be a woman….