50 Shades of Grey

I found another grey hair today.

Upon this discovery, I immediately sent a text message be-riddled with desperation and profanity to one of my closest friends.  I couldn't stand keeping the fact that I had another impostor on my head to myself.  I knew she would understand because, in the past several months, I have noticed acute changes in my appearance that I can attribute only to aging; she has had the same experience.

This particular friend and I share a lot of physical traits from our weight to our shirt sizes to our Mediterranean noses.  We even have similar builds:  petite and rippling with badass-osity.  We're both runners and, dare I say it, we pronate ever so slightly on the same (left) foot.  Creepy, I know.

To make things even stranger, we both have the same complaints about aging.  Though we know we're still young, we are beginning to notice crow's feet around our eyes, make-up creases around the mouth (despite the fact that neither of us wear that much make-up), and -you guessed it- a slowly increasing number of grey/white hairs.

I found my first grey hair when I was seventeen.  It grew near the hairline above my forehead, almost straight above my nose, and it reminded me of one of the coarse, wiry hairs around my dog's butt.

Lacey, my childhood pooch.
Despite her adorable face, she had rather wiry butt hair.

 As a teenager, I knew it was just a fluke, so I simply yanked it out and didn't hear from it again for another couple of years.  When it did come back, I was still very young and, once again, treated it the same way.  Ever since then, it has made maybe an annual appearance, but it was the only one of its kind.

Earlier this year, however, that all changed.  Not only did ol' Dog Butt come back, but he brought a friend.  I found two Dog Butts!  Still, no need to panic...until I found a third while straightening my hair.  Now, the thing that upset me most about Number 3 was that it popped up towards the crown of my head, where I had never before found any greys. So, I yanked all three out and began to accept the fact that my time had come and the Reaper was calling my name.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be an actor when I "grew up."  In my defense, I was decent at it, and even won a couple of awards for various roles I played....though I'm still waiting for my big break.  Anyway, one year for Christmas, my parents got me this CD set that taught you how to master a variety of accents and dialects:  French, Irish, Italian, you get the picture.  Each accent had a short monologue for you to listen to and practice.  I remember the British one had an old stalwart talking about aging:  "Ayyyy-ging!  I hate the veddy [for no good reason, the Brits involve the tip of their tongues in the letter "r"] thawwwt of it!"  On and on in went about this old guy who hated "happiness is being a grandparent" bumper stickers and complained about various body parts beginning to sag.

In any case, my point is this:  Everyone complains about aging, but most of that grief begins after 30.  What about those of us in our late (cringe!) twenties who are dealing with wrinkles, grey hairs, AND acne?  (Explain this to me, Science:  I never broke out in junior high or high school, but halfway through college, I started going through puberty.  Shouldn't that delay the aging process for a few more years?!?!?!?!)  Plus, we aren't lucky enough to have gone through menopause yet, so we still get our monthly visit.  Damn!  It's a lose-lose-lose-lose situation and I defy anyone who says otherwise.

Apparently mood swings and teenage petulance are still happening at my age, too.