Tuesday, March 20

Ik ben Jarig

Today is my birthday.

I am 41 years old.

On the train this morning I stepped into the WC (restroom) for just a moment and that's when I spotted it. My first gray hair. Right there, in the middle of my head, shooting straight out from the crown. My. First. Gray. Hair.
I have to admit, I gasped loudly and then spent several anxious minutes trying to isolate the errant lock so I could pluck it from it's perch atop my head. And then I carefully wrapped it inside my address book so I could show my husband later on. It's still there lying in wait for admission into evidence. In the case of Jenn v. Her Own Youth it will be a crucial item substantiating the case that there are aging invaders moving in to lay claim on my body, my mind and now, my head.

As we stepped back to our seats, I showed Andrew the proof-of-being-in-my-forties that I held in my hand. He looked at me kindly and blithely said "You're funny, Mama".
I told him that when he sprouts his first gray hair at age 41, I will definitely have something to say about it. That is of course if I can remember who I am sitting in the rocking chair at the nursing home.


  1. Your maternal grandmother had many, many grey hairs by the time she was 41. Be grateful. That's why they invented hair color.


  2. You crack me up! I am only 36... I still have time until those hairs show up so it is funny for now!


  3. I've had stray gray for years, so you're not going to get any sympathy from me on that end. And I'm way older than you, so you won't get any on that point.

    However, happy birthday.