The other day Husband drove 45 minutes to get his hair cut. If you’re thinking red-and-white barber pole, think again. Nope. The place he goes serves Scotch while you get your hair cut. He’s what you might call hoity-toity when it comes to his drinks–and his hair.
But that’s not the reason I bring this up (although it is somewhat entertaining). The reason is he sent me a Snap (and I say “Snap” like I am one of the cool kids who actually uses SnapChat regularly instead of a total nerd who thinks it’s just too much work and too confusing and sticks with texting or Facebook Messenger. (Again–Accidental Octogenarian) This Snap he sent me, though, was a selfie he took with his new haircut and his scruffy beard and he titled it “Silver Fox.”
And I thought, “He’s right. He IS a silver fox!” His hair is just starting to show a few slivers of gray, but his beard at this point is more silver and white than brown, and the infuriating thing is that this doesn’t make him look old–it makes him look distinguished. And dare I say–sexy?
Why do men get to be silver foxes?
I looked in the mirror after getting his text and checked out all my grays that need to get colored, and there was not one foxy thing about them.
When he got home, I told him instead of a silver fox he’s married to a gray muskrat.
No one’s ever accused a muskrat of being sexy. No one’s ever said, “What a muskrat!” when seeing some hot mama walk by.
It’s not fair. He gets to look distinguished, and I get to look decrepit.
Why do I feel like graying-haired men look spry, like they’re ready to tackle that next phase of life, and when I look in the mirror at my grays I feel like I just look like I’m ready to tackle a nap? And maybe learn how to crochet a pot holder.
Not that there’s anything WRONG with crocheting pot holders. It just doesn’t seem to be on the same plane as, say, trying skydiving or buying your first motorcycle.
And I don’t want to give the impression, women, that if YOU are currently sporting graying hair, I think you are less than gorgeous. In fact, I’m usually envious of other women who can rock the gray or white hair. But then I summon up the courage to check my grays in the mirror and I just feel like I look old, tired and scraggly.
Scraggly like a tired old muskrat.
Which is why this is my reminder to myself to call my friend and stylist and make an appointment to get these bad boys covered. I’m just not ready to face muskrat life quite yet.