Watching My Hair Grow Grey

I know growing old is not very popular with most baby boomers, especially for women, but I'm rather thrilled about it.  First of all, being named after Halley's Comet which arrives every 76 years, I have a game plan, so I need to really focus on getting old, grey and wrinkly fast.

Since the Comet returns in 2062, I plan to go out with it, the way Mark Twain did, so I am looking forward to the living at least to the age of 106.  I am a mere babe at 55.  I'll be 100 in 2056 and a nice desiccated, cranky 106 by 2062.  And what a bitch I'll be by then!   Can't wait.

So along those lines, I decided this year it's time to go totally grey.  I've been growing out my hair -- MY hair -- my REAL hair which has been hidden away by girly girl goldilocks, blonde paint from a bucket, until lately and now ... TA DA ... here's my actual hair appearing front and center!  I have gorgeous wise old lady hair and it's shiny grey in patches, just like my dad's.

It's a great batch of hair and really does give me a quiet nostalgic moment in the mirror to reconnect with family members no longer on this side of the glass.

Seeing the first white stripe in the front of my fringe did remind me of my dad and made me instantly melancholy and rather jump-for-joyish.  Sad to remember he's gone, but happy to be revisited by him.

So in my aim to grow old fast and not particularly gracefully, I've been studying the devious skills old people use to do whatever the hell they please, most of the time.   First, this game they play of pretending to be hard of hearing -- well, I'm hip to that one -- this poor hearing thing is a ruse, a way to disregard what most people say.  I'm practicing the scrunchy faced look of confusion and the quick, "What's that you say, sonny?"  I love ignoring what most people say, but now I have a good excuse.

And then there's the alleged trouble they have with walking and their creaky, crappy bones making it hard to get around. These cute old folks always want to stay in their seats, sip their tea and read their book.  I'm 100% behind that one.  "Honey, fetch me another cuppa," oh yes, love that.

And that business with poor eyesight?  You didn't fall for that one, did you?   Like many seniors, I've already had cataract surgery, and have better than 20/20 eyesight, but still wear the cute old lady peepers to fool everyone.  I can see the serial number on the back of your computer 50 yards away at a crowded Starbucks.  I can be delightfully nosy, reading any private papers on your desk or desktop when waiting in your office to be taken to lunch.  On the street, I am quickly noting your PIN number at the ATM when pretending to wait in line.  I smile sweetly.

And with any luck, soon I'll be armed with their main weapon of choice -- a nice silver-handled cane.  You think it's for walking?! Are you nuts!?   Ever notice how handy it is for whacking some youngster in the shins when they act up.  If that doesn't do the trick, a rap with the silver knob along side of the brow of a young, brash upstart is quick to knock some sense into their heads.   Leaves a nice dent in the hood of a too pushy red roadster too.  Ah, growing old -- this is a sport I am going to excel at.

Picture Credit:  Granny Glasses