Denial n denying; statement that thing is not
true or existent; disavowal. This is how
the Oxford Dictionary defines the state I have been in since I left my
hairdresser’s yesterday. What was
supposed to be a carefree and relaxing day bleaching my hair and making me all pretty
and blond for our island holiday turned out to be a “life event” so horrendous,
so horrifying I can barely bring myself to write about it without sobbing
uncontrollably into my Bloody Mary. Yesterday
I discovered my first grey hair(s)!
Yesterday
started out like any other normal day. I
slept until 8am (I am on holiday after all), had a quick breakfast while
maintaining my social media presence and catching up on all the GLBT news from around the world. Then got dressed and
made my way to my hairstylist’s salon, completely oblivious to the fact that my
world was about to be turned upside down.
Seeing as I was
bleaching my hair I arrived at the salon early as it normally takes a good 5 to
6 hours for my hair to turn platinum blond. My stylist decided to cut my
hair first as I still had some blond bits from the previous bleach in my
hair. As he cut my hair I noticed a
patch of hair on my fringe that didn’t seem to grow out. There was no regrowth just a blond
patch. “It must be my natural
highlights” I thought, I remembered having them as a child and how nice of it
to make an appearance again now. I was
wrong.
Just as my stylist
was about to start applying the bleach to my hair, he inspected my blond
patch. As he was inspecting it I thought
he too was admiring my natural highlights.
Then he looked at me and I could tell something was amiss. “Dude, I don't know an easy way to say this. You are starting to go grey.” he said. He called his assistants who also had a look and
they confirmed the news I was dreading.
So I had a closer look myself.
“MOTHERFUCKER!” I screamed in my outside voice in my head. They were right! If it wasn't for my botox everyone in the salon would have seen how shocked I really was.
Traumatized and
depressed I sat at the salon for 4 hours while my hair was being bleached. The grey took off 2 hours of the total bleaching
time. It’s not the sort of consolation
that makes me happy, but hey, being old I guess an extra two hours to do
something else is helpful. Life is short
and over far too soon.
It was clear
that I have passed my prime and the only way I now will be able to maintain my
dignity and the farce of a youthful appearance will be with chemicals, toxins,
medical procedures and prayer. This must
be why people become reborn Christians: Once the grey hair start appearing and you enter into this phase of life,
you realize how close you are to old age and seriously need to start thinking
about the hereafter. “Jesus Christ, Mary
and Joseph! I cannot believe that I am
getting old!” I thought on my drive back home.
I was not happy, but the worst was yet to come.
“SON OF A
BITCH! My crotch and balls too?!! MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!” I screamed as lightning
struck (it really did and I don’t just say this for dramatic effect). As I sat on the shower floor crying like an
emotionally disturbed child while staring at my old dick and balls, all I could
think about was “Do you get like a hair dye for pubic hair or will normal dye
do the same thing?” At the end I decided
to shave off my pubic hair, all of my pubic hair.
I always knew
this day would come, but I thought I had more time. More time to enjoy colouring my hair out of
luxury instead of necessity. I am
getting old and now for the first time there is proof. I choose not to think about it because it
upsets me too much but, in time, I guess I will accept this cruel turn of events
and maybe one day I will be able to laugh about it.
Next week hubby and I are flying to
Madagascar for a well-deserved island holiday; 12 lazy days of sun, sea,
snorkelling, scuba diving and reading a few good books. 12 days of forgetting that we are getting
old and going grey!
Till next time.
Happy holidays my dear reader.
May
you have a wonderful festive season and a FABULOUS new year!
