The Silver Vixen?

There was a guy in my class at college with gray hair. Everyone wanted to hang out with "The Silver Fox" because, despite being eighteen like everyone else, he could get into any bar. No ID required. Back then, having gray hair was cool.

A few weeks ago, I discovered my first gray hair. And then my second. And third. And fourth. And fifth. In one horrifying look in the mirror with the light just so, I realized that without my knowing it, about an eighth of my hair has turned gray. It's not that I'm blind or that haven't looked in the mirror in a while. It's just that usually I get my hair highlighted and I'm due for a trip to a hairdresser. With my roots growing in, I came to this realization: I am no longer a blonde to hide mousy brown hair. I am a blonde to hide gray.

I'd love to be one of those earthy cool women who embraces her gray hair, like the woman in my yoga class with gray pigtails and startlingly blue eyes. But there's something about me that just doesn't want to have gray hair. Maybe it's because part of me still sees myself as that eighteen-year-old in college, only I can get into bars, with or without a friend with gray hair. Of course, I'm not awake anymore when most people go to a bar.

In a way, I think it might have been easier to have gone gray at eighteen like The Silver Fox. He could never really look at his gray hair as a sign of age, since it didn't appear the same year that those lifeguard squint lines decided to show up uninvited. But that's okay. I'm going to embrace my gray hair. Okay, I'm totally not. I'm going to cover it up with blonde, but I'm going to remind myself every once in a while that it's there and that, while I liked my hair color better at eighteen, I'm pretty happy with the rest of thirty-five.