Grey Hair Days

I do feel for Mary Beard sometimes. She’s a lady of a certain age who wears her hair long and in its natural colour. Why shouldn’t she? Yet it’s enough to make people of limited intellect complain loudly on social media that she’s “letting herself go”. Oh for pity’s sake – her hair is clean and tidy. It’s just grey.

I’ve been going grey since my mid-20s (I do not want to think about how long ago that is, thank you kindly) and aside from a brief period of turning it bright red and bright blue, I don’t dye my hair as a rule. My grey is very grey and stands out because my natural colour, of which there is still plenty, is almost pure black. You would be forgiven for thinking I was wearing a skunk pelt on my head, if it wasn’t for the fact that it didn’t smell.

I’ve been told I’m very brave for allowing my grey to show through. This is nonsense, the fact of the matter is that I’m bone idle. Besides, my skin tone is changing as I age and I really don’t think that staying black – or going chocolate brown – makes me look any better. There’s nothing worse than an elderly lady (or man, now I recall Ronald Reagan in his Presidential heyday) with unnatural coloured hair. And I know from experience that blonde really doesn’t suit me. So grey I stay.

Besides, I’ve long ago come to the conclusion that grey hairs are the campaign medals of a well-lived life, and like all medals they should be worn with pride. So before you ask – yes, I’m going quite grey now. And no, I don’t care.

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