I sat in the chair as the cosmetologist brushed bleach and wrapped foil into my hair. “Uh oh,” she said nonchalantly, “I found one grey hair!” One grey hair? On me? For real? But I am only twenty-five! This should not happen for another ten years, right?
I think what startled me most about the entire situation was that she was so candid about finding the grey hair. I do not think she realized I was as young as I am. Maybe she thought I was thirty or so and trying to cover up any current aging when I asked her to retouch my highlights. Instead, I sat there speechless, balking at the idea that I am already losing the ability to produce melanin in my hair follicles. I would like to blame it on the stress derived from five weeks of classes, three nights a week for five hours, but I know that science has proved no causation between stress and grey hairs.
If science cannot prove or disprove the theory, then I will buy into superstition. At least she did not pluck the hair out and I can have solace in knowing I have one grey hair, not ten to come.