There are good things about letting the grey grow in. The savings, for one thing. Those little foil thingies are fun and make a girl all stripey and rocking, but I can fund a greatly accelerated M&Ms habit for an entire year on what I used to spend per month in roots maintenance.
But, as with most of the choices I've made on this earth, the decision had nothing to do with money. No, they had to do with:
- Gravitas. People might take me more seriously if I bear the real signs of wisdom and maturity. Serious people don't have to deal with compost. Ever.
- Fear. Certain other people (I'm talking to YOU, Kid) might learn to obey me because of my growing resemblance to the witches they're always on about in children's books.
- Surprise! I have grey hair! And I'm so frigging youthful! I KNOW. How do I do it?
- Community spirit. Scouts love to help old ladies across the street.
- Safety. No one is going to challenge me to a fight because I looked the wrong way at them. No one beats up old ladies.
- Grey is the new black. My hair goes with everything. Like that Mercedes CLK. . . .
- Victorian hair pieces. Silver hair works beautifully with my recent steampunk hairpiece obsession. (So recent as to be about 5 minutes old at this point.)
- School field trips. No one expects the elderly to traipse around frozen wastelands looking for small-animal scat in the middle of deepest February.
- Movies. I can speak loudly in theatres now and no one will think it's because I'm hyper and rude, they'll think it's because I'm hyper and old.
- There must be a tenth thing but I can't think of it right now. If you can, let me know. Where did I put my glasses? Why am I clutching this? I came here for a reason and now I cannot remember what it is. IS THIS THING ON?