I have hair. On my head, that is. I have hair is in other places, basically all the places in varying forms, being that I am a mammal. But I’m not so much concerned about that hair, especially since it’s getting cold out and I won’t have to shave my legs until spring. I’m concerned about the hair on my head.
It’s not that I’m concerned about my hair. It’s doing its job, sitting on my head, growing, occasionally being blown by the wind into my lip gloss, clogging the drain in my shower. So, I’m not worried about it, but I think about it. I think about it a lot.
The life of my hair started out straight and brown. It remained that way until not long after the birth of my first child when that lone gray popped out to say hi. Many more followed his lead over…
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