I’m writing this at the same exact time I should be preparing the final deliverables for our business trip on Wednesday.
(You see what I did there, yes? I used the word “deliverables” and I implied that our business has grown important enough for an actual trip. Give me another six months and I will be wearing suits with shoulder pads and issuing directives on SYNERGY and STAKEHOLDERS and those DAMN FRAMEWORK DISCONNECTS. All while eating puppies for breakfast. I loves you, Internet.)
(It is entirely possible that I saw Working Girl too many times too many decades after it came out.)
(On second thought: Nah.)
Yet instead I am sitting down to write about a much more pressing issue.
It is this:
You see it, don’t you? It is impossible that you don’t see it, because you must see it. Here:
Uh huh. YES. It is a GRAY HAIR.
Well, to be precise and this blog is nothing if not precise, wherein precise means “an authority on pet action figures and age-inappropriate mall walking,” it’s not actually gray. It’s more a silvery…silver. A touch of the metallic in otherwise very dark hair.
I’m fairly certain that it is also the beginning of the end. Actually, I thought the beginning of the end was when I first purchased anti-aging cream, but bam! wrong! it’s the gray hair (about seven strands in the past two months, not that I’m counting or charting it or, you know, making some crazy line graph nope). Wrinkle cream is apparently the almost-there beginning of the end, whereas a gray hair is the end-all, death’s door, just-get-it-over-with-and-become-incontinent-and-die beginning of the end. Just to be clear.
For now, my only plan of action is to alternate between panic and frantic bouts of finger-combing and peering. I’ve yanked a couple on my own, but by far the most successful degraying was done by Adam and Aura, when I forced them to stand over me while I crouched on the living room floor, yelling, “IF IT CATCHES THE LIGHT, PLUCK THE SUCKER.”
Back to the deliverables. Can you wear deliverables on your head, like a hat? A big, hair-hiding hat? Sigourney Weaver would, I bet.