NaBloPoMo Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Tell us about the last thing you hid.
Just this morning, I hid my roots.
Again.
Second time this month.
It’s a never ending battle. One that began twenty years ago. One that, out of sheer vanity, I’m not ready to concede.
My grandmother, the family member whose genetic patterns I seem to most closely follow, had absolutely gorgeous silver hair. Some day I’ll be proud to have hair as beautiful as hers.
But not today. Not at 41.
So until the time is right to lay down my coloring gloves and embrace the enemy, you’ll find me in front of the mirror every two to three weeks, armed with a bottle of 118.
