Is there anything more stressful for a woman than finding her first silver strand?
Probably. But when yours truly thought she’d crossed over to the grey side earlier this week, you wouldn’t have thought so.
After suffering from the dreaded lurgy for what seemed like an eternity (in reality it was around about 10 days, but believe me, it felt much, much longer) I was delighted to finally be able to crawl out from under the bed sheets and stand up long enough to wash my hair. Ah, life’s simple pleasures.
A ‘nasty’ virus, to quote my far too jovial doctor, had shut down my body, leaving me hiding under the bed sheets for a week or more, stretching out a sickly hand only when liquidised treats were pushed my way. Bless The Boy, who did a stellar job at looking after this difficult patient.
So when I finally felt well enough to face daylight, one was quite looking forward to the usual morning routine, getting ready to brave the world and even head into the office.
In high spirits, it came as a relief to be getting back to normal until, quite unexpectedly, an odd coloured hair caught my eye, and stopped my heart at the same time.
Glistening in the morning light, a single stray strand seemed somewhat out of place, and for a moment I thought the worse. This is it; 27 and I’m going grey.
Ridiculous, over-dramatic, vain? Guilty your honour, without even properly examining the evidence.
Only days before I had been reading an interview with a leading dermatologist, prompted by the news that, shock-horror, our favourite Princess (Kate of course) is ‘battling the grey’ at the tender age of 33. In it he wrote about what causes grey hair (genetics), if stress speeds up the process (apparently not) and how we can prevent hair from changing colour (erm, regular root appointments? My answer, not his by the way). Had this fiction become fact on my own scalp? Should I get ready to come to terms with grey pride? A slightly calmer attitude and a very close inspection and one came to the conclusion that no, not yet at least.
Not grey, but ash blonde. An escapee from a highlighted section that perhaps was enjoying its newly clean condition, after too long stuck against my scalp. At least that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. The bullet has been dodged, for now at least. Though an appointment with the colourist has been booked.