With Age Comes Wisdom (after being stupid)

Around 17 years ago, when my hair began to go gray, I decided to intervene by getting a dye job. My intent was to gradually increase my natural shade of brown, until I could maintain it as it used to be.

Unfortunately, I dismissed the instructions on the DIY dye box, and left it on twice as long as recommended. Instead of blending in with my peers, I was now about as inconspicuous as a geezer wearing bright orange Bermuda shorts to the opera. To make matters worse, my graying mustache (which I had left alone) only underlined to passersby, what disaster had befallen my lustrous head of hair. (Compare to old bald guy you've seen,  with the crooked toupee, flapping in the breeze).


In desperation, I turned to the young lady who had been cutting my hair for years at her salon. Her attempts to hide her smile were as ineffective as the what-are-YOU-looking-at, Chia growth sprouting on my head.


She accepted the challenge of toning down my new look, and answered my plea to match my moustache as well.


The professional turn-back dye job worked okay, but ... never having slathered chemicals on a mustache before, the stylist presented me with a dark, furry brown caterpillar crawling under my nose.


I was never able to achieve the Goldilocks effect, where everything would match, so off came the moustache and I allowed the gray on my head to win the day. Except that after the dye insult, it grew out white, as did my new moustache.



The moral of the story: "acceptance is the key". Glasses, bigger belt, hearing aids, body creaks and groans that would embarrass a three masted schooner.... and white hair.