... and it's attached to my head.
I'm driving, I pull down my mirror to smile at myself and this little one-inch long gray hair waves hello.
"OH MY GOD NO WAY!!"
I snap the mirror back up.
I'm not even that old. I'm 26, I think.
Maybe it's paint.
I haven't painted in a long time.
Maybe it's bleach. I slathered bleach all over the bathroom yesterday and maybe one drop backsplashed onto that one hair and turned it white.
Why is it only an inch long?
Maybe I imagined it.
I pull the mirror down again and take a peek.
Yup, still there. Sticking straight up. Hellloooooo.
I'm going to drive right home, pluck it, squash it between two pieces of tape and thumbtack it to the wall above my bed to remind myself to chill the fuck out.
I overstress.
I pop open the cell and call Jess.
"Jess I have a gray hair," I tell her.
"What? Oh, well you haven't dyed your hair in a while," she says.
"--What do I do?"
"I don't know pluck it?"
She's no help so I hang up, eyeing a CVS Pharmacy as I'm driving by.
I change lanes quick and pull in-- I need a box of hair dye stat.
What did I do to deserve this?
Is it stress? Are my other hairs going to turn gray? How long do I have left?
I remind myself to Google it when I get home-- but then I think, is WebMD more appropriate? I"M PREMATURELY GOING GRAY!
So now I'm home. Apparently my freethinking hair follicle has gone rouge and stopped producing melanin in that one strand-- and now it's white. It sure as hell was a good way of getting my attention. I've never noticed before because I've never been without hair dye since the age of 14. I wish I could launch negotiations with it before the others go over to it's side.
"I'll do anything!" I'd say, "I'll buy you $24 shampoo!"