Three of These Things Belong Together

One of these things just doesn't belong

This week’s newsletter is a lighthearted, tongue-in-cheek look at going gray. Because we can all use a little lightheartedness these days.

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Every month, the four members of our book club meet on Zoom. We’ve known each other since high school, but have lived in different cities for decades.

During our online meetings, each of our faces appears in a little square on my screen, like a miniature version of the Hollywood Squares. But it’s not the Hollywood Squares theme song I hear in my head when I look at the screen. It’s a song from Sesame Street called “Three of These Things”.

On the show, the song played while the faces of four kids appeared in a grid on television. One little girl was hanging upside down.

Three of these kids belong together
Three of these kids are kind of the same
But one of these kids is doing his own thing
Now it's time to play our game
It's time to play our game.

I think of this song because three of our book club members have naturally gray hair; one is still on the bottle. Not wine or tequila, but the bottle that holds a magic potion that makes gray hair disappear. That’s me. I’m the one refusing to “rock the silver” look.

The subject of aging, wrinkles and hair colour came up during one of our meetings (the conversation always drifts to other things after we discuss the book). Lori in Philadelphia said, “My mother and my grandmother would be so proud of you! They coloured their hair until the day they died.”

I wasn’t sure what to do with that statement. I colour my hair to look a little younger, but am I more in step with older generations? Am I missing the point by bucking the gray trend?

Jamie-Lee Curtis has gone gray. So have Helen Mirren and Andy McDowell, and they look stunning. So do my friends, but I just can’t embrace the damn gray!

One day I found an app that let me virtually try different hair colours. I uploaded a headshot and then peered at the many colors to choose from. My finger hovered over “silver”; I clicked on it and held my breath. The app worked its magic and in a few seconds, I was staring at an image of myself with a full head of gray hair. It wasn’t terrible. But it wasn’t great, either. Gray hair would be for another day … or year.

Sometimes I think I’m betraying women who are fighting for acceptance of aging female bodies in general. Other times, I feel like an outcast because I’m refusing to get on the wagon.

There was a commercial for shampoo in the 80s that featured a gorgeous model with a full head of long, wavy chestnut locks. She stared into the camera with her doe-like eyes and said, “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

Now I’m pleading with my sisters-in-arms, “Don’t hate me because I’m blonde(ish).”