The Occasional Solipsist

Vanity is a funny thing.

Not that I didn't know about it in my own life, at least peripherally, before now. But for the most part, I'm a low maintenance guy. You know, get a haircut once a month, no real clothes sense of any kind. I'm a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy.

But even to a low-rent like me, vanity can do some serious damage.

See, I've recently noticed a slow but steady march of grey beginning to take over on what was heretofore the no-grey zone of my head. Plenty of it mind you, so at least I won't be bald anytime soon. But definitely grey.

So I tell my wife that I'm going to start dying my hair, and she has the grace to nod and tell me that whatever I do is fine with her.

I've told you before. She's good at allowing me my idiocies.

But rather than begin a lifelong campaign of dying my hair just yet, Superwife suggests that I get my hair highlighted, something I've done in the past. I think that way, she doesn't have a 30 year old husband that dies his hair. I'm still a good distance from metrosexualism, but that's fair enough.

So I go get my hair highlighted (highlit?) last night. And maybe the girl that did it wasn't too familiar with the process. Maybe she cut my hair too short afterwards, and maybe my hair now looks like a blonde skunk with a chessboard carved into the side.

And maybe the dozen grey hairs that no one but me would have seen weren't so bad after all.

Labels: narcissism