The other day I was sitting at church with my two sons in tow.
Mr. Quirky was sick (allegedly).
Okay. He is sick. And heaven help me!
It's a good thing I was the one who got cancer.
Big Baby Much?
Yes, compassion is one of my strengths.
*insert cheesy smile here*
Anyway, so my nine-year-old was sitting right next to me and kept on gazing at me in adoration.
No, really, he does.
He tells me all the time how much he loves me, how I'm the best Mom in the whole universe, how beautiful I am.
Yes, I think so too.
So while we were sitting there he kept on touching my hair.
I'm okay with that.
Then he whispered into my ear: "Mom, why do you have so many gray hairs?"
"Because I'm old son."
His eyes widened in horror.
You'd think I had told him I was a zombie or something.
Then, "Mom, that bothers me!"
To which I had no reply. I was surprised.
I asked him, "Why?"
"Because I don't want you to be old Mom!"
Yeah, it dawned on him: old people die.
I'm gonna die.
Life is harsh.
But does this mean I need to start dying my hair? More often than once a year? I truly resent that the grays have come back in so quickly. I stopped plucking them because... they're growing back in real wiry and kinky.
I have nothing against kinky.
But it doesn't float my boat.
So I bought some Grecian Formula For Men. Only it's for ME. Until I read the stoopid directions. It's recommended NOT to wash your hair for a week after the first use.
What the hair?
That doesn't float my boat either.
I must wash my hair DAILY. Sometimes even twice! (Well, in the summertime. Trust me, it's a necessity.)
So do I continue to flaunt my mortality to my young son? Or do I brave greasy limp hair for one week?
Garsh, I hope not.
Because that would be even MORE harsh.
However... it might help me get into one of those People of Walmart pictures.
And it would be nice to have a taste of fame whilst still living.
B.S. Where's the cheesecake? If I'm gonna die, I want to die happy.