A Nice Gray Day

by Steve Mitchell

Evidently, my hair is noticeably, increasingly, not-entirely-brown.  

Yeah.

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.

Ouch.

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.

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