That one gray hair
That one gray hair
Why does aging have to come in this color?
I always thought I would live forever. That death would give me a pass and forget to knock on my door. Illogical, I know, but a girl can dream about ways to make this a reality. Maybe I’ll be seduced and bitten by a sexy vampire. Or discover a magic potion and gulp every last drop. Or reincarnate over and over again as a sexy ingénue forever and ever.
Because if I can live forever, especially as a vampire, I’ll stop the aging process altogether.
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My desire for immortality is less about the fear of not existing and more about the fear of aging. As someone who has always appeared 10 years younger than my actual age, I am realizing that at 46 I am now pegged as 36. I don’t get carded anymore. I get called ‘ma'am. And although I still get hit on by men in their early to late 30s, and they stare at me in disbelief when I share my actual age, I see the signs of aging every day when I look in the mirror.
My skin is still taught except for the bags under my eyes. They get worse when I don’t sleep 8 hours a night thanks to Evan, who still sneaks into my bed despite my objections.
My ass is still round and lifted thanks to working out at the gym. But damn this cellulite that doesn’t budge no matter how hard I hit the stairmaster.
My smile lines are apparent, although they’ve stopped deepening since I began using an LED light treatment every night for 10 minutes.
My grays are just coming in at 46. I color my hair and touch up my roots way more often than before to keep them seemingly at bay.
But there’s hair that can’t be dyed. That no matter how much I primp and press they grow silvery and wild, taking over that very area with abandon.
I do what I can to keep her nice and neat. And if a man ever dared complain, I would send him to get his scrotum waxed to see how he likes it.
So it seems that my only option to grow ageless and grayless is to become immortal. Stop the hands of time before it all goes down…sagging and all. This is my current conundrum as a single woman in mid-life, especially one that‘s getting hit on by 30-something-year-old men.
And with that, I’m off to become a Sugar Baby to a 100-year-old man with cataracts. Unless I can find a damn vampire in Transylvania, Romania.
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