This is not the first time that I have found a grey eyebrow. Or, alas any grey hairs on my head. However this one this morning was lying right next to its twin.
Can you sense my distress?
To be honest, I feel like I am currently plucking my eyebrows far more regularly than I ever used to. My previously styled eyebrows are turning into hairy caterpillars quicker than bloody miracle grow changes my lawn.
I think something happened when I turned 40.
As the clock ticked over to 12.01 things started to happen to my body and it's untamed hair, like an internal timer over the years.
Ping...puberty.
Ping...baby making hormones.
Ping...hair growth.
Ping...the menopause?
Wow, it's all bloody downhill now isn't it?
Hair appears to be appearing at a rapid pace, and after a conversation with a friend who is not much older than me, it is apparent that it is only going to get worse.
"Hair on your chin is next." She informs me while my eyes widen in shock, and I suddenly have visions of myself waking up one morning with a little Santa Claus beard, and wheeling my granny trolley around the supermarket.
"What else?" I enquire nervously.
"Hmm..." She ponders, " Hair on your lip maybe?"
Oh my god?
What happens to women when they reach a certain age? Why does hair suddenly go all awry like it's lost all sense of direction?: 'Tell you what mate, I'll grow out of here, you stop growing and you turn a nice shade of grey'.
"Bald patches?" I ask nervously.
My friend looked at me with careful consideration, knowing that the following news was going to be hard to take.
"Yes," She said gently then waited to deliver her punchline, "...and not always on your head."
It took me a moment to digest this horrifying tibit.
What? Is she serious? Am I going to lose all of my lady garden? Am I turning into one of those monkeys with bald arses and a hairy head?
I feel dizzy at what she is telling me.
"So can I implant what I'm gaining in one area, to another more specific area?" I ask her, "You know like vajazzle for the elderly woman?"
She thinks this over, and I interrupt her before she can respond.
" Oh no," I say as if there is a perfectly plausible reason why that can't happen "but then my lady garden would be grey." I quickly add.
"Oh that can happen as well," she says nonchalantly, "More tea?"
Tea? I can't drink tea! I need whiskey, the shock is too much to handle; the hair on my body is spiralling out of control and you are offering me tea? I take deep breathes of air while staying very still in case any more fall out.
Needless to say since seeing my friend I have inspected each hair on my body.
I spent some time saying goodbye to them. They have seen me through some long years; watched me go from girl to woman, and have been with me when I gave birth; the brave little blighters.
So it is to my hair that I declare; Some of you will have to go in the sacrifice that is old age; some of you will remain and gain momentum, and others of you will lose pigmentation - but I will remember you all.
Thank you hair for keeping me warm; thank you for not getting caught in a zipper, and finally thank you for simply being you and stoically doing your job.
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