To dye or not to dye

To dye or not to dye
16 August 2012

I wish I could lie about it, but eventually the truth always outs, so I may as well be upfront about it.  I’ve had the odd grey hair starting to nest on my head.  I know!  Who would have thought?  How rude!  Vanity still prevails and presently I’m waging a relentless campaign, plucking them out when I find them.  But I suppose there will come a time when I shall have to weigh my options – to go grey or to go bald.  Or to be more precise, I will actually have four options, as hair dye or a wig are also possibilities. 

My mom’s done the gracefully-grey thing and it really suits her.  My English granny, Ouma Helene, has also done the gracefully-grey thing and it also worked really well for her.  However, my Afrikaans granny, Ouma Cathy, did the purple rinse thing.  Pretty intense, I tell you.  She mostly got the colours right, but slip-ups did happen occasionally.  At 87, she is now completely grey and looks marvellous.  So, what to do, what to do???

I remember when I found the first grey hair.  I phoned my friend Maryke and wailed to her “this is the day that the music has died – I found my first grey hair”.  She was still busy commiserating with me and tut-tutting me with sympathy when I told her not to worry as I had pulled the offending hair out.  Maryke shrieked down the phone “NO!!!  When you pluck one out, two more grey ones grow back again!”.  Why did nobody warn me?  I’m disgusted!  Surely only old people get grey hair?  And as you all know I’m still in the spring of my life.  Okay, so maybe I’m more in mid-summer.  But let me tell you that the whole grey hair thing has made me feel like “this is the winter of my discontent”.

Another alarming thing, is my legs.  I’m pretty sure that they don’t belong to me.  I used to be able to do the short wearing thing, but I suspect that those days are over.  My upper thighs look like they’ve been pelted with hail.  Most unflattering, I tell you.  And I’ve noticed the first appearance of “very-close-veins”.  Nasty, I tell you, very, very nasty!  And don’t even get me started on my arm waddle.  Bleh!

And then there’s the pigmentation.  I look like I have a diet that’s way too high in carotene.  People always comment on my lovely tan and ask me if I’ve been away on holiday, lying in the sun.  No, actually, I just look like this all the time – even in winter.  Mainly on my face.  Great!  That’s just peachy!  No really, the colour is peachy.

I suspect that I’m a mere short leap away from ‘short-arm-syndrome’, which would require me to wear reading glasses.  Or more accurately 'seeing' as I am already near sighted, I would in fact need…..horror of horrors…..bifocals.  Perhaps I can get myself a lovely dashing pair, that I can hang around my neck on a little string/chain. 

And I guess then it really will be all over for me.  I shall have to invest in a little brag book filled to the brim with pictures of my children and as yet unborn grandchildren, as well as favourite pets.  Maybe a little clutch purse.  Some big clip-on earrings.  Court shoes.  Beige stockings.  Liberally dot moth balls all over my cupboards to ensure that I have olfactory authenticity when it comes to my clothing.  Dither around.  Say things like “I remember when I was your age…” and “when I was a wee lass” or “in my day”.  Start having lunch at 11h00 in the mornings and supper at 16h00 in the afternoon.  A late night would entail going to bed after 19h00.  Trade my zooty Black Berry in for an ancient brick of a cell phone without a colour screen, that has humongous buttons.  Become firm friends with my pharmacist.  Only read large print books.  Drive really, really slowly, revving my car quite high and making maximum use of my clutch.  Get really cool discounts at movies and enjoy senior citizen shopping days and bargains.  Start sleeping with my teeth in a glass of water next to my bed.  Start brushing my teeth with a nailbrush, because it’s way easier that way.  You just take them out of the glass of water, into the palm of your hand…..