Well. You all went nuts for spots! It has outperformed all my other blogs in terms of views by a clear mile. If I’d have known I’d have written about spots sooner. Perhaps it is time to write an appearance mini-series, also known as The Shallow Chronicles. First spots, now grey hair!
Which I have, in disturbingly increasing quantities. RAPIDLY GREYING HAIR as my hairdresser once referred to it, which sent me running for the nearest off-license faster than the speed of sound to cry into a Gin bottle.
I was quite sure all was well. My Mum started turning grey in her teens, but everyone reassured me that as I take after my Dad’s auburn colouring the grey thing wouldn’t happen. ALL LIES. When I fell pregnant I decided not to colour my hair for a while and I watched as a crop of grey hairs appeared along my hairline. I’ve been colouring my hair for years you see, so I had no idea I was greying. At the age of 27! The double whammy of mousey roots combined with a hint *lots* of grey. And there’s really not a fat lot to be done.
My Mum’s hair is amazing. She is petite and her hair is completely white, styled into a chic little crop, and she is always immaculately dressed. She should really be spending her days in Paris, wearing floor-length gowns and elbow-length gloves, drinking tiny cups of coffee and being fabulous.
I on the other hand appear to be a throwback from the dark ages, when someone in the family had one too many and mated with a giant. I lumber around like a donkey on Valium, struggling to co-ordinate limbs that are just too long for my brain to manage. I trip over thin air. I am not chic and so going grey will not be so easily styled out.
I’m going somewhere with this! Just bear with me before you decide I am a horrible, shallow wretch and disown me. This grey hair of mine is the sign that I am growing older, and as I have aged my life has expanded. I have made firm, lifelong friends. I have studied a subject I adore. I met and married James. We had Blake. We bought our lovely home. So when I do decide to grow up and stop dying my hair bright red (it’s bound to be scaring some of the birds off) I will have to just get on with it and remember that we are all ruled by time. If going grey is one of my body’s ways of marking that, on reflection that is not such a bad thing. And to ease the transition, there is always a hat – for whom amongst us does not love a giant in a Fedora?
dazedandmumfused is on Twitter @dazednmumfused and Instagram: dazedandmumfused