Sonnet #1: A Reluctant Crone's Dilemma

To color, or not to color: that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in mind to suffer the slings and arrows of an aging head with only a sparse few grays, or to take chemicals against a sea of potential grays, and by opposing end them?
To dye, to fake; to fake: perchance to deceive.
For who would purposefully bear the whips and scorns of time?

All of this is because I'm debating coloring my hair. Yeah. Nobody ever accused me of being not quite dramatic enough. You might even say I had quite a dramatic streak. Streak... that brings me back to hair color now, doesn't it?

Here's the thing: I colored my hair all the time when I was younger. A few of my friends were graying and I just didn't want to know about it. I figured if I kept color in it all the time, I'd just never know when I started to go gray. It seemed like a foolproof plan. When I had my kids and quit working, keeping up with color just wasn't a financial feasibility. I decided to see what was under there - under the color and the perms and all the other ridiculous affronts I had been imposing on my tresses. Turns out what was under there was not one single gray hair. I couldn't believe it. I was into my thirties and most of my friends were a little if not a lot gray. Not that anyone would've known that, of course. Fans of the color they were and are. I don't fault them for that a bit. But I didn't have a one. How 'bout that? Growing the perm out was a little more traumatic. My real hair was shiny. It was soft. It was not gray. But it was as fine as a toddler's. I considered using little velcro bows to try to manage my coiffure.

I haven't colored it or permed it or indulged in any other chemical processes since that day. (Ok, there was that one time, when I was asked to be a hair model - a before and after sort of thing. It was crazy fun and he did a great job with the color. I wouldn't mention it, but a couple of you know I did that and I know how you are. If you think I'm lying about that you'll figure I'm lying about everything. And I'm so not. I'm all about full disclosure. But that was years ago and it has long since grown out, so - sew buttons on ice cream.)

Now I'm no longer in my thirties and I only have a little bit of time left in the forties. My head is no longer completely devoid of grays. But I've gotta tell ya here, at the risk of seeming immodest, there are precious few of them. And I'll tell you something else - a secret, almost - I don't really hate them. They're not gray so much as they're silver - white even. They're not the bane of my existence. Sometimes I even think they're sort of pretty. Don't have a heart attack and die from the shock. I guess that's what happens when they don't start to show up until you're ready for them.

But lately - lately my crowning glory is not looking as shiny as it used to. Some days it's downright dull. It is still soft and it still behaves badly when I try to style it, but now it isn't lustrous. And I want it to be. Is that so wrong? The fast track to shine is color, right? And if it covers those couple few grays that insist on framing my face, well, that wouldn't be the end of the world I suppose.

All of this led to my Shakespearian inspired sonnet. Hamlet never had a dilemma like this. Plus, in the immortal words of The Boss, "I'm just tired and bored with myself".

Shakespeare and Springsteen in one post. Yeah.