Solutions for That Pesky Silver Chunk of Hair
By Ann Ipock
There it is again! That silver chunk of hair. I thought I’d seen it in my mirror last week while getting gussied up for a fabulous party, dahlin’. I even picked up my hand-held mirror for closer inspection, but decided to ignore it. This time, there was no denying it. As I scrubbed my bathroom sink – one week you’re the belle of the ball, and the next week you’re Cinderella – it taunted me up close and personal once again. At my side part, dead-on with the root line, noticeable and quite prominent. I have mixed emotions. I cannot be gray – ah, I mean, silver (that sounds so much more luxurious). My mother still isn’t completely gray, and she’s 84 years old. My dad didn’t get gray until maybe ten years ago, and he’s also 84. So, it’s not in my genes. Right? The fact that hub Russ’s hair turned gray many years ago and more recently, “let loose” – his words, not mine – does not attribute towards my newfound discovery, right? Like, we’re related but we’re not related.
Make no mistake: The silver chunk IS there – I just checked again. On the one hand, I want gray (ah, silver) hair all over because it’s so much easier to dye blonde, and the roots don’t contrast so badly when growing out! I have one friend that’s been totally silver for quite some time (and she’s beautiful). Cleverly, she colors her own hair blonde. Think of the money she’s saved over the years. I’ve never had that luxury because it’s hard to cover dark brown roots. Believe me, I know. I’ve tried.
Well, what am I going to do about it? This is my next thought. What if I grew it out (using no color), and the chunk alone turned out to be a silver streak like my sexy friend, Carolyn? Her hair is jet black sans one sexy silvery streak in the front. It’s been that way since I’ve known her, for fifteen years. I would love that, but I don’t think that’s what my silver chunk is all about.
Speaking of hair anomalies: I was reading Nora Ephron’s, I Remember Nothing, when I got the news of her sudden death. (Ironically, I was reading the final chapter when she must’ve been living her final chapter. Now I don’t mean to sound like one of those obituary notices, but something tells me she would laugh out loud if she could read that sentence. I LOVED her sense of humor!) She mentions her weird hair pattern in one chapter, calling it “My Aruba,” naming it after the island “where the winds are so strong that all of the little trees on it are blown sideways in one direction.” She’s actually referring to cowlicks on the crown of her head, in the back, which I also have. I wrote about this in my book, Life is Short, I Wish I Was Taller. I must interject here that I LOVED all of Ephron’s works, and I find it amazing – no, make that exhilarating – that we’ve written about similar subjects. Whoa! For example, her father hung up (the phone) on people, never said hello and never said goodbye. So did my Granny Pinky. Ephron says she’s not getting old, she’s getting older. I’ve been telling my mother this EXACT SAME SENTENCE for at least ten years. I would love to think Ephron and I are/were kindred spirits. If I could only be that lucky. Sigh.
But, back to my silver chunk and my plan of action. Do I keep getting it colored and high-lighted? If I do, I’ll never know what lurks beneath all those layers of blondeness, AND I’ll continue to hear dumb blonde jokes. But if I don’t, that old ugly word VANITY comes to mind. I think I would be one of those women whose hair would not necessarily be salt and pepper. It would be salt, pepper, some Montreal steak seasoning and a little Lawry’s Seasoned Salt (for my red highlights) mixed together. It would probably have weird frizzy curl patterns within the chunk – I already see some wave (it’s normally straight as a stick). Alas! What is a woman to do?
I finally have an answer! This would solve the whole thing. I’m taking a cue from Russell, when I told him on a recent outing that our car was making a funny noise. Deadpan, as usual, he told me he had a solution. “What?” I asked. He leaned forward and simply turned up the radio.
So, listen up, women: This, too, could impact you in a positive and/or positively horrible way (advice is my forte, results are not.) I’m going to quit looking in the mirror. I rest my case, and I lay down my hand-held mirror.
About this writer
- Ann Ipock iis an award-winning Southern humorist and speaker who writes for the Georgetown Times, Sasee and Columbia County Magazine. Ann lives in Wilmington, N.C. with her husband, Russell. Life is Short, I Wish I Was Taller (published October, 2010) completes the Life is Short trilogy. Contact Ann through her website, www.annipock.com.