Shocking Signs

In my ever enduring quest to share with you the gunk that is in my head, I bring you my thoughts on aging.

First of all, let me tell you that the number of years I have lived, also known as my 'age,' does not bother me. The numbers, they mean nothing. No 'milestone' has sent me to crying or makes me long for the past... the past had its own crap anyway.

Now at 38 years, I have not had an easy life. Most of you readers ask if this stuff is real, you know the wry life is not the high life. I expect to see certain signs of aging earlier than most. No, I don't welcome them, but I know they are arriving and it doesn't really faze me.

The signs of aging, the process of the body giving into the elements, includes the following: Skin is not as firm as it once was. There are lines. There are body parts that try to leave their original designated spot. There are grey hairs.

Each sign of aging arrives in its own time. Each person deals with them in their own way. I met with each one of these in a problem solving manner. More lotion for the skin, more exercise for the muscles, and I was dying my hair for decorative purposes anyway.

And each person will finally get one sign that for them is the 'wall.'

My wall was one very small sign: a lone, but very obvious, grey pubic hair.

We see Dad's male-pattern baldness, Grandpa's tufts of hair sprouting from his ears & nose, and we nervously laugh or send memos to ourselves that a sweep never works & that a small hair clipper will be essential someday. Perhaps it is that we grow up seeing Aunt Sarah's wrinkles, Mom's 'salt & pepper' hair coming in, and Grandma's loose, saggy skin, etc., and so we realize, tucked away in the back of our young (naive) minds, that this is what eventually happens.

But as I had never seen Nanna et all naked, I never thought about grey hair creeping into more areas than my scalp.

Drying off in the shower that day, seeing that one grey stand looking virtually white against those soft black curls, well, I just wasn't prepared.

I can't say I cried. I was too shocked for that, really. I just stared at it, then vigorously brushed with the towel to see if it was (hopefully) just a thread. It didn't go away. So next, I placed it bewteen my fingers, and firmly, but gently, gave a little tug. Yup. It was attached. This grey hair was really mine.

Now, seeing that I have have addressed each other sign of aging in a very practical, problem solving manner, I did run through my options: tweeze it? color it? But none seemed appealing. So I continued to stare at it. I probably did not have such a look of wonder on my face when I grew my very first strand of pubic hair.

Eventually, I did get dressed. But all day it was in the back of my mind. "Just how old am I getting anyway?", I wondered.

It has been several months now, and no other 'friends' have appeared. So, I ask myself if it is simply a sign of stress... If a really bad scare can turn your hair white, why not 'there?' I know, I know, it is lame. What do I think, that I saw a really large cock & scared myself white?

But denial is a powerful thing.

So once it falls out, and no others replace it, that is the story I am sticking with.