My grandmother on my dad’s side has pristine white hair. My dad- he has hair the color of flaked coconut. And making it’s royal debut at the ripe old age of 22 in college, was my first WHITE hair.
Mind you, I don’t mean grey, this was freshly fallen snow, baby powder, pre-spot dalmatian, primed canvas white. I was getting changed after one of my “this counts!” gym sessions in college and was pulling my hair into an I-give-up-bun, and nearly fell face first into the smudged-from-god-knows-what mirror when a brilliant gleam peaked out of my hairline. I balked, moving my head to the right and left hoping the florescent lights were giving me stellar highlights, but the achromatic one and a half inch wonder stayed white no matter how quickly I turned my head. Here is where I learned another life lesson. Well, it’s not earth shattering, but until that point, I thought that your hair just…turned…grey or white. Didn’t bother to think that it started to grow in that way, I assumed it transformed like a left out banana to let you know your life stage was changing from fresh and new to over ripe. But, sure enough there it was, swaying in the air conditioning like a kid at a choral concert about to faint. I debated yanking it out, telling no one, and pretending it never happened. Blame it on the thesis, blame it on stress, blame it on poor diet, but I knew paternal genes were on the stand for aiding and abetting with this one.
I actually don’t mind white hair. I’m not saying that just to make myself feel better about the white hairs that are reproducing like bunnies in my part, my rogue hairlings are the same texture as my other hair, and once they grow past that awkward fuzz halo stage, they look like shiny bits of expensive salon work. I’ll take it.
So, I’ve been working on a bunch of shoes. Disney Princess inspired digital painting shoes. I keep telling myself that “after the next one I’ll do a post on the site!” and then I start another and don’t bother to Two Cents it. I tell you this so you can understand that I’ve been doing hot heel after fabulous footwear after sassy shoe for weeks on end and wanted a break.
I loved the Saturday morning cartoon X-Men. Hubs and I even re-watched a bunch of episodes on Netflix recently to reminisce. Rogue was always the best X-whoa-men in my opinion, her power was the coolest: yoink off a glove and suck all the epic out of all the other mutants. Plus, she could fly, and my loyal floggers know my propensity towards anti gravity. And, she rocked white hair. Yeah, Yeah, I know Storm had white hair too, but stick with me here, Rogue was the coolest. So, being a perfectly available reference model, I made myself an honorary stand in as the president of the Cool White Hair Club. And as you know, I’m not only the president, I’m also a member.