Member-only story
When to Go Gray
I fantasize about breaking free from the bond of my follicle prison
Last week, my caring-but-business-like housekeeper asked me if I was letting my hair go gray.
“No. That wasn’t my plan… ” I responded, confused. I quickly checked my reflection in the dirty glass of the microwave door. English is not her first language and, having chipped away at confusing, housekeeping-related topics with her in the past, I assumed the true nature of her question would reveal itself if I played along.
“Usually there is more mess,” she explained. That could mean a lot of things, I thought, still not getting it. “In your bathroom,” she clarified, pointing over her shoulder like it was obvious. I realized she was referring to the disaster I usually leave behind every three weeks or so after my at-home root touch-ups. I usually put off doing them until moments before appearing in public with the inch-long evidence of my decrepitude on full display. Then I end up rushing, frantic, and I pretty much Jackson Pollock-ize my whole head and half the bathroom. During that particular week, my bathroom was missing those telltale, purple-black fingerprints on the vanity doors and sink, and the splatters of dye all over the inside of the shower curtain like a crime scene involving an excited fountain pen.
