As most of you, I’ve been media blasted by the presidential elections and the corona virus. Both of which I can not control. Yes, I have ONE vote, and yes, I can wash my hands, but currently my only choices. Thus, I’ve decided to chat about gray.
Perhaps, some of you learned The Old Gray Mare at summer camp, at school, or from one of your family members. Though its origin is unknown, historians suggest it was penned sometime in the 1800’s. Early recordings have been documented in 1917 and 1918. With that said, I’m puzzled by this new fad for gray hair and flabbergasted by the 20’s-30’s women who opt to be dyed gray.
Granted, my Japanese sister and some of my peers have chosen to go au natural, to me, they look old. Of course, my face is old in spite of how any botox injections and other drugs I use, but my hair is NOT gray. (Yes, it is. But my hairdresser makes sure it is not.) I choose not to take close-up selfies–hell I see that everyday in the mirror. Yet, as long as the photos are far away, I look OK…I think. Plus, my photographer daughter works magic in editing my face.
My maternal grandmother died at 99.5 years; my mother at 95. Both of them left the earth with blonde hair, courtesy of Miss Clairol. I fully intend to go out the same way, even if I ain’t what I used to be.
Alexa just reminded me: time to wash your hands again.