Houston, we have a problem
So. I'm at work, and as I often do at work, I get up to go to the bathroom. I walk out of the stall, look myself over in the mirror as I wash my hands and ... ohhhhhh, no. No, no, no, no, no, HELL TO THE NO.
I immediately walk back to my desk (this is my first mistake) and then (second mistake) ask the guy next to me if he notices anything different about my hair.
"What?" he says.
"Anything, you know ..." I start tugging on individual strands of hair to give him a clue, and then I just give up and half-blurt, half-scream: "DO YOU SEE A GRAY HAIR ON TOP OF MY HEAD? DO YOU? IS IT BLONDE OR IS IT GRAY? I CAN'T TELL BUT I THINK IT'S GRAY AND I KNOW I JUST HAD A BIRTHDAY BUT AHHHHHHH I CAN'T HANDLE THIS DAY OR THIS WEEK OR THIS WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. I CANNOT HANDLE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW."
By now I've attracted a bit of a crowd, all male, who start picking through the top of my head like a bunch of monkeys.
"It's a little lighter, but it might just be the lighting in here. The lighting blows in this place."
"Look, it's shorter, like it's broken off. I don't think it's gray, I think it's just broken."
"My wife's younger than you and she has some gray hair. She's, like, REALLY self-conscious about it, too. Like, REALLY. Which, I mean, I can totally understand--" He's interrupted by one of the other guys: "Dude, NOT HELPING."
"I can't tell. I'm color blind." (Pause.) "Is there a color blind test online? I want to take it."
I resist the urge to yank it out, start rocking myself in the fetal position and pretend the whole sordid thing never happened, because you know if you do that you're cursed forever and, like, 75 million of them appear in its place. Now, I can't find it. Which means it really is blonde and is blending in with the rest of the blonde hair. Which is the story we are sticking to for the next day, week, month, 50 years if we have to.