A Nice Gray Day
by Steve Mitchell
Evidently, my hair is noticeably, increasingly, not-entirely-brown.
I don’t really mind…much.
I can live with the color and I don’t want to dye it. I get compliments on it, occasionally, which is nice. But, also, people sometimes think I’m older than I am.
I understand why they do. It’s a combination of my gray hair and my thoughtful temperament and my relaxed demeanor.
Still, it’s kind of a punch to the vanity-plexus.
It wouldn’t be so bad except for the incredulity of some people’s reactions.
You’re only 47? Really? Wow! I thought you were older than that.
Anyhow, today, as I worked on a machine, the clerk, very politely, asked when I started going prematurely gray. I told her I found my first gray hair around the age of 19.
She complimented the color, then took pains to emphasis she only asked because she could tell I was young and going gray early.
At 47 years old, almost 48, I’m arguably not-so-young, but it was kind of her to say. It was a nice compliment.
I’ll take it.