Then high school shows up. Late bloomer, late bloomer, late bloomer, advanced biology, first grey hair. Whoa. What?! There I sit, dutifully labeling an amoeba (or some such nonsense) when my teacher walks by, plucks an errant gray hair from my head and points me out to the class as the evolutionary oddity that I am. Thanks, Ms. Ziegler! Seriously though, she was a pretty great teacher. Funny too. :)
I remember being quite young and noticing the blue/black borders hovering right below the hairlines of many women that I admired and loved. Still though I thought, "not me." I will not be a 'blue hair.' Don't get me wrong. I had no misgivings as to my future as a drugstore color-job. I did not. Eighth grade came aringing and my magically colored mop of bronze, copper, and blonde was replaced with a sad but sturdy dulled dark auburn. This would not suffice. So off I went with less than $10 bucks in my pocket to find the copper of my dreams!
History was made, and save a five year stint in the first millennial decade, I've been drugstore dyed ever since.
My grey has increased. I'm not yet 40 years old but still about 40% grey. Genetics aside, I've still got many external factors on which to place blame. I like being able to deflect blame...
I don't mind being a premature granny, though. It's okay. Someday I'll have a savage silver mane like Storm from X-men. Or maybe I'll be Khaleesi! There's still time for fine tuning my fantasy me.
Until then, like clockwork, I shall shuffle off to the grocery and choose my favorite penny-hued cheap dye, marching inexorably to the pink-hair future that is mine. It's like my very own version of rose-colored glasses. For under $15.