Another gray hair and another.

It has been two long weeks since my last haircut... so it was time for another. Personally, I'd like to get one every week, to keep it just so. That would be excessive perhaps though two weeks is definitely the limit before my hair goes into full Chia Pet.

Luigi is my man at Astor Place. He's been cutting my hair for, what is it now? at least 3 years. He knows exactly how I like it and opts to leave it slightly longer. We're talking an eighth of an inch, so I don't argue. I trust his judgment. Luigi does B.D. Wong's hair. He's got B.D.'s picture on the mirror and I've seen him once, before I got a cut. He lingered a little long afterwards, didn't think he was "sticky." Who knew?

Today's haircut was like any other. I did notice the extraordinary amount of gray hair littering the smock. No, I'm not panicking, more bemused. Admittedly, it was a little shocking. It seemed so much more than usual. It's not from a lack of "friends" who'll gasp at the sight of my hair and exclaim, "Oh my gosh, look at all your grays?" It takes all my power not to retort, "What a shriveled looking prune your face has become," but I digress.

Like most, I attribute my grays to stress. I do question how much credence is in that thought. My first grays appeared in my mid-twenties, maybe earlier. It's a stressful life being me. I could color my hair I ponder for a fleeting moment. Already I feel the "friends" circling. Peck. Peck. I personally like my grays and I'm not so vain. This is what I am, more pepper than salt but all me.

Buzz. Buzz. Luigi's done in 15 minutes. Freshly shorn, a burden lifted from my head, I go.