Value

In this last year I have noticed my hair turning grey. Since turning 30 I’d had the odd one which I aggressively plucked out. “I’m too young to be going grey!” I exclaimed to my husband. “Are you too young to be going bald?” was his dry reply. After plucking out the first few I watched for the mythical seven which were supposed to sprout in their place. Nothing. For a while they totally stopped appearing. Then suddenly about a year ago I noticed a scattering. This time I was better prepared.

Two pieces of information had changed my opinion about these hairs. As a teenager, in the 80’s, rummaging in a second-hand book stall I came across a book on palmistry. Once home I analysed my own palm. Looking at my life line I was shocked to see that it was very short. I guessed I had until the age of forty before I would shuffle off. For a long time I didn’t think I’d live long enough to go grey. Next month I’ll be forty-four so thumb on the nose and nah nah ne nah nah to the palmistry book then. That made me grateful to see my grey hairs. It meant I’d outlived the prophesy, survived. So far anyway. I know most women will deal with the dilemma at some stage. To dye or not to dye. I was just glad it wasn’t to die or not to die. I’m still here and proud to show my age and experience on my head.

The other factor was the price of silver increasing. My hair is not turning grey. My hairs are turning silver. Precious, light catching, filaments of wonder. They are hard-earned and valuable. Things of beauty. Signs of wisdom.
So my decision is made. I will neither dye or die. I will carry on, head held high, silver hairs catching the light, shimmering, magical.

Terms and conditions apply. The writer reserves the right to suddenly dye her hair on a whim should she decide she’s starting to look like an old hag.