My hair was black. Now it is over half gray. The entire front of my head is gray and the back is almost all black but with a few silver threads.
If I went natural I could probably start a new trend.
But I refuse to look like a two tone Chevy from the fifties.
Ah…to dye or not to dye, there’s the rub. And a mighty rub it is, when you get that crap on your skin. With any luck you’ll get the Vaseline or the vegetable oil in all the right places so that your hairline does not extend forward to your mid cheek, giving you that distinct Planet of the Apes look.
I have been dyeing my hair so long I barely remember what color it was before additives. For almost five years I was blonde, even. I blame my cousin Carol for this. Despite the fact that deep in my heart I thought brown eyed blondes were kinda…you know…WEIRD, I followed her advice that dark hair is too harsh as we get, um, older. Did I have more fun? Honestly, I don’t think so. But my poor hair got so dry I had to stay at least a hundred paces away from an open flame, lest I be bald.
These days my hair is a dark purplish brown. Sorry, I have never gotten over the fascination with purple hair. And if it makes my wrinkles more prominent, well, you know what they say:….Hello? Plastic Surgery Department?
PS. My cousin Carol says she would never have a facelift because she would look thirty years younger than her husband. I say, bully for him! The jolly dog got himself a babe!