But the thing is, hair-dying is such a commitment. You can't just dye it once and forget it. You have to do it every 6 weeks or suffer the consequence of nasty roots. Therefore, I found myself with an inch or more of a floured path following my part every few months for the next dozen (or more) years.
Then I married Brock. He's a historian, most of you know, and it was his opinion that prematurely grey hair was the desirable feature in eras gone by. He suggested (read: begged) that I grow out my greys. He insisted that it would add to my youthful glow rather than detract from it. Grey hair frames a relatively young-looking face with the contrast of the unexpected. The idea being that the grey hair makes the youthful face look even more youthful. If you follow . . .
So I tried to grow out my greys when we got married three years ago. After about 2 inches of conspicuously contrasting roots, I caved and bought a box. I tried again the next year, but some event came along that required me to become vain and, therefore, I succumbed to the box again. I tried again the next year, and after a couple inches of growth, I decided that if I were to ever successfully grow out the greys, I'd have to chop my hair. So chop I did. And now I'm grey.
So . . . what do y'all think of my salt and pepper mop? (see pictures below) Am I:
a) waaaay too young for grey hair
b) looking rather age-appropriate (I turn 40 a week from Tuesday, yo!)
c) pulling it off like a pro. I mean, you can't BUY highlights like that. Ya know what I'm saying, hmmm???
*a cute aside*
One evening when Kate was 3 or 4 years old, I was in the process of my bi-monthly coloring job--my hair was dripping with dye and piled on top of my head. She came into the room, saw (and smelled) that I was coloring my hair, and said, "Hi Mom. Is your hair dead yet?"
Out of the mouths of babes!