Meh. It hides the grey nicely. I just don't look good with light hair. Never have, and I figured that out in high school, where a Clairol hair-painting experience had me sobbing in the bathroom. Nothing's changed, I am just better as a brunette.
As my hair dried, the phone rang. Guess what? It was the orchestrator of my highlighted experience in high school. I hadn't talked to her in fourteen years. Not because of hair, just because that's how life is.
It's funny talking to someone you've known that long. "Did you really think your husband and his brother had the same daddy?" "When did you figure out you needed to get the hell out of that marriage?" "How many grandkids do you have?"
Holy shit, we could write a book. Life turns on a dime, and I understand the bumps in the road that got her there. And she knows mine. How there's no way you could date the guy next door in high school (EEEEWWWWW!!!!) and how you felt when so and so died, and the other rabid dust bunnies we kicked under the bed years ago. The ones that creep out and attack, the ones that need to stay there because the damage they could cause is unimaginable.
It was like finding your favorite pair of shoes, the old ones buried in the bottom of the closet. Comforting.
The exact opposite of standing in front of the mirror, understanding your hair looks good, but would look much better....on someone else. And that the idea was another rabid dust bunny that should have stayed under the bed.