Dear white hair atop my head,
How dare you?
How dare you keep growing back after I pluck you away?
You come back every.single.time.
I don’t want you here.
I am still young-ish.
I am not yet 30.
So just because I am a mother now, I get to have you visit?
Mothers=Old= White Hair?
Is that the equation you son of a bitch?
I made a cute side braid this morning.
Well, at least I thought I looked cute.
I sat on the train, got on the bus… walked to work.
Happy with my cuteness.
That is, until I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window.
There you were, sticking straight up on top of my head like Alfalfa, hanging out next to the braid.
Are you kidding me?
Do you know how stupid a side braid looks with a WHITE HAIR?
Don’t think that I don’t know that you have more buddies hanging out, hiding inside of my hair?
At least they have the decency to hide.
You were all proud- like, sitting like a king on his throne.
But I will get you.
or I can come to terms with you and adopt this look:
Whatever does happen between us hair… good or bad… we’re in this together.
Oh, and I would suggest you sleep with one eye open.
q: How do you deal with your white hairs?