This Christmas, Santa gave me A GRAY HAIR.
Just one. gray. hair.
He obviously did not get my memo about bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. (preferably in brown paper packages tied up with strings...) Gray hairs aren't one of my favorite things... (is bursting into songs from musicals a sign of old age?)
a hem. As I was saying...a gray hair. on my head. in my bangs, to be precise. As soon as the reality of it all struck, I called down the hall, " MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!". She came running (probably worried I had fallen in the toilet or burned myself with a curling iron). I showed her Santa's version of coal for adults. And then, she laughed her buttocks off at me. My dad heard her laughing and came to see what the fuss was all about. Then he started laughing his buttocks off.
Then Copain told me that I need to start dying my hair again.
I still refuse to spend 100 euros every three months to cover just one gray hair. Ethel will be cleverly hidden under my other, melanin-rich hairs. And until Ethel makes friends, that is how things will remain.
In other news, I have switched to an anti-wrinkle day cream as a complement to my anti-wrinkle night cream.