Rustic Hair

Another Sock Drawer Escapee: from a 2009 collection of personal essays called "That’s the Way it is in My Family"

Photo by Vendela Larsson on Unsplash

Recently, my sweet teenager kindly informed me that I have “rustic hair.” Huh? Rustic? Like log-cabin rustic? She continued with, “Mom why don’t you color your hair? Ok, now I understand. Rustic as in due-for-a-paint-job. Rustic as in g-r-a-y. For the record, my hair isn’t entirely gray. It’s salt and pepper, heavy on the salt. Truthfully, I’ve been salty for quite some time.

Going gray early is a fine family tradition. The first gray strands usually show up about the same time you’re old enough to vote. That’s not to say that voting causes gray hair, but I hear that running for office just might…

Anyway, the family accepts silver highlights as the norm. Maybe not happily or easily, but you can only fight the gray so long.

I caught myself peering closer in the mirror. Rustic? Hmm.

What to do? The handyman and Miss Clairol both share the same advice - any old barn looks better with a fresh coat of paint. It never hurts to look at options, right? Off to the store I went. The selection of hair colorings was astonishing! Color after color… box after box… shelf after shelf… I didn’t find any “standard colors.” None at all. Instead there were colors like Golden Toasted Pecan, Caramel Essence, Chocolate Truffle, and Raspberry Plum. Talk about confusion! Was I looking at hair color or ice cream? Ultimately, nothing looked or sounded good to me.

Back home, I found myself in front of the mirror again. What was so bad about being a rustic gal? Nothing. I’m not painting this old barn, I huffed to myself. Now that the issue was settled, how about some ice cream? Plain rustic vanilla, please!