Welcome to the incomparable Fran Hill, who is an old friend, fellow writer. and a blogger whose site I visit again and again when I need a laugh or another way of looking at life. Or both. If you enjoy her musings (below) you’d really enjoy having a click-around on her site, Being Me, at http://ilurveenglish.blogspot.co.uk/
I found a long grey hair in my left eyebrow this week. Grey hair on my head I can take. But there’s something about grey hair in one’s eyebrows that says, ‘The end is nigh. Have you made your Will?’
But I will not give in to discouragement. Instead, I will tell myself about worse places I could find a long grey hair. This is called ‘self-talk’ and is a technique you’ll find in all the self-help books.
I will use these chants to comfort myself:
‘I could have found a long grey hair in my tomato soup at a restaurant.’
‘I could have found a long grey hair, smelling of a shampoo I don’t use, on my (dark-haired) husband’s collar.’
‘I could have found a long grey hair growing from my chin at a perpendicular angle, stiff as chicken wire, and poking someone in the Tesco queue in the eye.’
‘I could have found –‘
No, this isn’t working. On a scale from 1-10, if 1 means ‘I feel no differently about my grey eyebrow hair’ and 10 means ‘I now wish the rest of my eyebrow hairs and all my other body hairs were grey’, I’m still down the bottom end.
Did I pluck out the maverick hair? No, I didn’t. I gave it a decent tug, just to make sure it hadn’t fallen off my head and landed on my eyebrow. There was always a chance. But it held fast and said, ‘You’re not getting me out of here that easily’, like a teenager in bed in the mornings who holds on to the duvet with a grip like a vice, even though you’re pulling on his ankles with everything you’ve got.
I did consider plucking the hair out, but I learned all I know about body hair from Jackie magazine in the 1970s. They ran an article once a month warning the nation’s teens that if they dared to pluck one hair rather than use Immac, they would soon have a rag rug where rag rugs shouldn’t grow.
I’m fifty-two, so the grey hairs on my head can only be expected, and they haven’t taken over yet. My hair’s naturally dark and, as long as I make sure the bathroom mirror’s well steamed up, and I stand well back, and don’t wear my glasses, I’m still a convincing brunette. Also, no one’s approached me in the street yet offering a Stannah Stairlift brochure or a sample Tena pad, though maybe that’s because I wear a badge saying, ‘I may look past it but I can head butt.’
All I can hope is that, should this grey eyebrow hair trend continue, it will do so symmetrically. I’m going to look darn silly with one grey eyebrow and one dark one, like Cruella Deville gone very, very wrong.
If Deborah allows me back on this blog, at some point in the future I will report back and let you know how things are going. That’s if the care home has Wi-fi.