Apparently the Universe had one more gift in store for me because I woke up this morning with something strange growing out of my head. I hesitate to call it a gray hair - I don't want it to become too familiar with me and invite its friends - but it's definitely lighter and more wiry than the rest of my hair. Not cool, Universe. GO TO YOUR ROOM.
I didn't pluck it because, for the moment, I'm choosing to refuse it exists. Except for the whole 'telling the Internet' part. You see, this alleged gray hair is throwing a wrench in my plans. I had always thought of myself as someone that wouldn't fret over gray hairs and wrinkles, someone who would just age naturally and gracefully. But that was assuming I wouldn't get a gray hair until I was 30. This rogue hair is AT LEAST 3 years premature and I don't know how to deal with it - dye it, pluck it or fuck it?
At least it's in the front so maybe I can rock a saucy gray streak, a la Stacy London.