One fun product of Pandemic and Pandemic pregnancy is my insane new hair, which is a fun combo of a year sans haircut, weird post-pregnancy baby hairs, lack of ever Doing hair Hair, frequency of wearing hair Up because nowhere to Go. This fun new hair, I am proud to admit, has the occasional Gray. There is nothing like yanking a gray hair out of your part to make you feel and know Time, and the fact that it only goes in it’s one direction. And why is it that they’re like hard wires, like tiny unfolded hangers sticking straight up? Is it so that there’s never any question of whether they are There? They don’t arrive whispering. They announce themselves, like fights shooting through telephone lines. They stand like hands volunteering to go First. They shout like billboards. Pull just right on one and it’ll curl like a Ribbon on a Present. Open the box and inside the Sunday church barrette your Mom once shoved your hair into, back when you had much too much of it.
