I just couldn't stand the multiplying strands of white on my head anymore. They had made their appearance quietly enough a few years ago, adding to their numbers slowly and surreptitiously; never meriting more than a second glance or a half-sigh.
They were just waiting.
Last year, Hell's own gift to me, saw me go grey faster than you could say "Boo! Surprise!" Overnight, they attacked and I realised I was on the losing side. But I stubbornly held on, refusing to let them and the Higher Power they answered to, called Vanity, win.
The remarks I received over the past 18 months at my apparently apathetic behaviour towards my appearance ranged from shock to disgust to shattering. What nobody realised was that I was still grieving and while I hated the sad, fat and greying person who stared back at me from the mirror -- sometimes dispassionately, sometimes disconsolately and very often disgustedly -- I was also adamant about not giving in. Not giving in to popular culture's perceptions about beauty; not giving in to what the magazines say; not giving in to my friends's rebukes; not giving in to peer pressure.
I've always known that I'd have to hit the bottle (errr, the bottle of dye) sooner or later and I just wanted it to be later.
But yesterday, I just couldn't take it anymore and so I succumbed.
But it wasn't the bottle I turned to for comfort. It was mehendi.
Sigh...so strike one up for Vanity.