I’m twenty-fucking-three and I’m going grey.
Okay, that could have potentially been a tiny overstatement but I did find my very first grey hair today…so, I’m basically a geriatric now. It happened just a few hours ago while I was sitting on the toilet (doing a #1 I should clarify). I was already feeling quite vulnerable and exposed; staring into my own eyes while I did a little wee, then I saw the little bugger, poking out atop my thick, brunette locks.
Sheer panic set in as I frantically scanned my brain to remember if I had ever set up my will and details of my funeral plan, outlining the glitter cannons and photoshopped life-size images of me with the entire cast of Friends (including Gunther) having a laugh on the couch at Central Perk.
I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I WANT BEYONCE TO PLAY AT MY FUNERAL PLEASE! (Crazy in Love or Best Thing You Never Had.* I haven’t decided just yet).
There are plenty of people in my life who have had the odd grey hair sprouting in their 20’s and to them I always usher those reassuring words around their delicate egos: “Don’t worry, it’s just one little grey hair, it doesn’t mean you’re going grey. It’s probably just some kind of albino strain that you’ve got in that particular molecule of your scalp. Have some wine.”
But now, I know.
Now, I know that there is nothing more terrifying that realising that your short-lived youth is coming to a grinding halt because after grey hair comes grey-ish coloured skin and following that I assume that your soul turns a little grey or something. I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s never just one. Soon in the near future I’ll spot another one of those bastards tainting my youthful noggin’ because where there’s one, there’s more. Just like when you had nits in primary school. You weren’t walking around telling people that you had ‘nit’, where you? You had a whole plague of the fuckers hanging out up in there.
I guess going grey is like the grown up version of having nits.
So, it’s been an hour or so since I made the discovery and I still don’t quite know how I feel. I’ve kept the hair in a zip-lock bag because when my housemates get home and I want show it to them and I want them to tell me that it looks more “blondish” than grey. Then I want them to tell me how cool, hip and interesting I am and then dance in circles around me, showering my youthful body in cash and confetti. A girl can only dream.
I’m not ready to get old just yet, despite my penchant for early nights and lap blankies. I'm still a spring chicken. I was eating a chicken drumstick on the toilet today for crying out loud (again, doing a #1. Chill guys, I’m not going to tell you about my poo rn). I’m a disgusting youth. I still sit on the floor to put my jeans on. I still let 80% of my weekly grocery shop shrivel away to waste in the back of the fridge. I still tell people that I know how to vote because I'm a millennial and we lie.
"I guess going grey is like the grown up version of having nits."
Well, if this is it guys, I can say I’ve had a pretty interesting journey so far. Maybe this will be the last article of mine that you’ll ever read because tomorrow I could die of old age. * I’ll try and look on the bright side, maybe it wasn’t grey…maybe it was platinum. That’s in right now, isn’t it? Yeah okay, cool. Scratch everything that I just said and let’s start again….
I’m twenty-fucking-three and I’m going platinum and I feel bloody amazing.
*I would definitely opt for Best Thing You Never Had purely for the reason that I’d want all of my ex-boyfriends to be at my funeral, crying because they can’t have me anymore. Because I’m dead.
*After writing this sentence I knocked on all the wood in the room, spun around three times and blessed myself with un-holy water. I’m extremely superstitious.
P.S If I was guaranteed to look as flawless as Miranda Priestly when I turned grey, I'd do it in a fucking heartbeat.
Kate Neilson is a list maker and a booty shaker. She loves wines, plants and having a laff. She is the creator of Twenty Something Humans and can be lurked at @katie93rose.