It was nearly seven years ago — on the morning of my thirtieth birthday, in fact — that I discovered, and promptly plucked, my first grey hair. Since then, plucking has been my standard method of dealing with the occasional grey, and up until very lately it’s been satisfactory. These past several months, though, have seen a marked increase in the number of silvery strands threading themselves through my tresses, and I’m afraid that removing them by force will no longer do.

The usual thing is to cover them, I know, but I just don’t have the energy to keep up with it (nor the money to have it professionally done on a regular basis). Plus, I like my natural color and even the best dye job wouldn’t match it exactly.

So, if plucking is out and coloring is out, that leaves learning to live with the grey. I have a friend who not only tolerates her grey hairs, but embraces them, calling them her “sparklies.” I really like that. I think I’ll try to get myself around to her way of thinking and love the hair I’m in. If nothing else, I’ll save a few bucks and some wear and tear on my scalp. And let’s face it: if I really can’t stand it, the proverbial woman’s prerogative isn’t going anywhere.