The Lady is a Skunk

‘Twas a polite and festive gathering of my compatriot Russian ladies, many of whom I had not seen in a while.

“Your hair is gray!” Gasp. Trembling of drinks. Eyebrows raised haphazardly.

‘Yes, I am sick of coloring my hair.’

“Come to my house tomorrow night, I’ll color your hair.” 

“You know, I have been coloring it for twenty years now. I am sick of coloring it.”

“Are you too cheap to spend eleven bucks on hair-color?”

“I am just sick of coloring my hair.”

Another well-intentioned well-wisher:

“You know what you need? We need to make you an appointment with Madame N. She is the best stylist and colorist, trust me. She has won awards, she does shows, you name it. She is expensive and it is really hard to secure an appointment, but it is well worth it.”

‘Thank you, I might take a referral for a haircut…”


‘I am sick of coloring my hair.”

“Stop by my place and I will color it for you, no problem.”

Sigh – I am sick of coloring my hair – where is the whiskey.

‘Because next thing – you will let it grow long! And then you will start doing yoga! And then you will become vegan! Because you live in this stupid Ann Arbor!”

I. Do. Not. Feel. Like. Coloring. My. Hair. If. I. Ever. Feel. Like. Coloring. My. Hair. I. Damn. Well. Will. Do. It.Then.

Actually, I am not mad at the ladies, nor rebellious towards the extant beauty standards, nor trying to be different.

I am not making a feminist statement, or any other political or spiritual statement via gray hair. I make statements via speaking, writing, shrieking and stomping of feet. Hair is just this stuff that grows on my head.

The formula for any decision including gray hair (non) coverage is simple:

What I want to do minus hassle minus societal repercussions equals – am I still left with a positive value?

If yes, proceed.



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