This is not a post about an old horse.
This is a post about my gray hair and Dave, who finally, after almost fourteen years of marriage and at least, the last six, of which I have been coloring my gray hair, actually noticed how gray/white it really was. Yesterday, we were walking into the gym, I had my hair pulled back into a ponytail with a headband on and there it was, he saw it. He tried to be nice. Hoping to not offend me says, "Is that how white your hair would be if you didn't color it?"
"Yes, it would."
"Wow," he replied. I wasn't sure how to take that. I have been trying to decide lately if I should cut it really short, go away for six months, and just come back with white hair. I ran that idea by him. Mostly thinking about how nice a six-month vacation would be. He didn't object, especially when I told him how much it cost to color my hair every five weeks.
This is a post about that point in your life when you decide that no matter how ridiculous you look in a hat, you will wear one anyway.
Six days until the next hair appointment.
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