Please Tell Me Grey is the New Black

I find it somehow too fitting that on the morning after my little sister turns 18, I find more than one—let’s be honest here—more than three grey hairs.

Eighteen years old. Wow. I feel old. I remember 18, literally, like it was yesterday. I remember my friends, what I did with my time, and how I was feeling. I remember going straight after school on my 18th birthday to get my nose pierced, and I remember going to Red Robin with my family for dinner afterward and how they made me stand on a chair in the middle of the restaurant while they sang to me. I remember who I had a crush on, the parties, and the anticipation for college. And now my sister is 18—she’s SEVEN years younger than me. As Tre so eloquently said last night, “That’s like a whole person!” And now she’s 18. This, coupled with the big 25 looming months ahead, makes me feel old.

It gets worse. They say you can’t go up until you’ve reached bottom, right? Well I hope I’ve reached the bottom of these 25-year-old woes that have been itching in the back of my brain. Really, are you serious, GREY HAIR? I never, never let my hair grow out that much. I’ve been dying it shades of colors ever since junior high. I’ve been blonde, dark brown, highlighted, lowlighted, and every shade of red known to man. But, now my hairdresser still lives in Bellingham and since our lives are so busy, I rarely get the chance to keep up on my roots like I used to. So, I’ve been joking the last month that I’m channeling Carrie Bradshaw in season three of SATC. She’s single, fabulous, fashionable, gorgeous and has huge black roots, so I can do it too, right? Well, I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror this morning before exiting my car to go into work, and the light was shining in just the right way to highlight the couple different grey hairs scattered throughout the top of my head. I even stopped to pull a few out, just to make sure. AM I GOING GREY? Holy shit. My hair always has had some sort of chemical substance on it for the last 10 plus years, so if I was going grey, I wouldn’t know it. Maybe that’s for the best. I can handle being 25, I can handle not having a boyfriend, a fiancé, a house, a dog, 1.5 kids, a hugely budding, successful career, a 401K plan, thousands of dollars saved in the bank…I can handle all these things that someone might say every 25-year-old should have, and I don’t.
But.
I.
Cannot.
Handle.
Going.
Grey.

Perhaps sleeping with a cute young thang will help me through this mid-twenties crisis...

Currently Feeling: Hmmm, I'm going to go with old.
Currently Anticipating: Wine and hors d'ouvres with Sarah tonight at a condo opening for her work.
Currently Contemplating: What I should do Friday night.
Currently Loving: Someone to snuggle with at night. It's been a long time.