The Grey Zone

I found my first grey hair at 19. A few years ago, after a couple of vanity-free months in South America (no makeup, only sunscreen, no hair cut or colour, the shabbiest of clothes), I had my hair cropped super short in San Francisco. I didn't mind the sprinkling of grey that was revealed, but when I got back to work one of my junior colleagues asked me about my retirement plans. I was 39 at that point and somewhat wounded, so I went back to colouring it. Since then I've had dark brown, red, strawberry blonde, superblonde and all variations in between.

But you know what? I hate going to the hairdresser. I hate the time wasted sitting in a chair while waiting for my hair to turn a different colour. I hate having to make inane conversation (or perhaps not being able to choose with whom to have that inane conversation). 

So a couple of weeks ago I went and had it cut but not coloured. I can't really calculate how much grey I've got, but it's plenty. And guess what? I love it. I will have to get someone to take a photo some time. Think Jamie Lee Curtis without the cleavage ...