I found a grey hair a
couple of weeks ago, silver actually, and it’s a long mofo that one, one of the
longest on my head. Yes, I found it on
my head, where else would I have found it?
Don’t answer that… So this hair,
how now? This is the thing, grey hair
comes early in my family. My eldest
sister had grey hair in her 20’s, the rest in their early 30’s, it’s a miracle
I got this far without any, or so I thought.
And then I found it, all 4 inches of it.
No, I didn’t measure it, I’m not that OCD, yet, it’s a wild guess based
on what I think 6 inches looks like.
What now? Why are you looking at
me like that? You bloody perverts, what
6 inches are you thinking about? I’m
thinking of that small ruler in the mathematical sets we used to carry around
in primo, and I know you weren’t thinking about those same 6 inches, were you
now? Like I said, bloody perverts. Nkt!
Where was I? Ah yes, my silver
hair. I’m not sure I want to go grey
just yet. More to the point, I’m not
sure how my head will grey. It may be like
my mother’s, grey only at the hairline for ages, or it might be like my
father’s, grey all over, overnight it seemed, or it might be a hybrid, grey in
patches, like the actors on stage with no make-up budget and a bagful of chalk
dust. And how will I look grey? I don’t like colour in my hair, I’m not sure
I can handle being silver. Then again,
silver might be quite nice, look at the first missus, her hair makes her white
tops look quite stunning, and I do like a white top…
And all this from one grey hair. Imagine what my day is like when I find blood
in my poo… Stop cringing, you obsess
over your shit too, no? No? Shit.
This is going nowhere, just so you know,
nowhere at all.
Grey hair is a strange thing. It’s completely natural, but we go out of our
way to deny its existence. We dye our
hair back to its ‘natural’ colour, or shave it off when and where we can,
whatever it takes for our age not to show on our heads. Are we ashamed of getting older, or is it the
fear of impending death signalled by our advancing years? I used to think it’s the former. I used to think that the fear of going grey
was pure vanity, not wanting to acknowledge the passing of years, wanting to
cling on to the blush of youth. Perhaps
it is, but faced with my own impending greyness, I’m coming to realise the
reluctance to go grey has more to do with our image of ourselves, and not the
image others have of us. I don’t feel
old enough to have grey hair. I don’t feel
as old as I am. In my head, and to a
certain extent my body, I still feel 25, then I look in the mirror and see the
little wrinkles around my eyes, and my one silver hair, and it hits me that I’m
no longer a young girl. How now?
Last Christmas I gave you my heart,
But the very next day, you gave it away,
This year, to save me from tears,
I'll give it to someone special...
I love George Michael in ways one should never love a gay man, but in my defence, when I fell in love with him he was still straight, at least publicly. Of course, looking back at the Wham! videos it seems somewhat obvious, but I was young and infatuated, and the concept of a gay man was far beyond my comprehension. ‘Last Christmas’ is the Christmas song for single people. None of that happy clappy nonsense, sijui ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’, nooooo… This is a musical ‘Fuck you!’ to whoever, or whatever, fucked you over this past year. I’d like to dedicate this to my former love, Amolo, he that embraced the polycolor with reckless abandon (and in the process managed to kick me and mine to the curb). Boss, I get it now. Or not. No, definitely not.
But the very next day, you gave it away,
This year, to save me from tears,
I'll give it to someone special...
I love George Michael in ways one should never love a gay man, but in my defence, when I fell in love with him he was still straight, at least publicly. Of course, looking back at the Wham! videos it seems somewhat obvious, but I was young and infatuated, and the concept of a gay man was far beyond my comprehension. ‘Last Christmas’ is the Christmas song for single people. None of that happy clappy nonsense, sijui ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’, nooooo… This is a musical ‘Fuck you!’ to whoever, or whatever, fucked you over this past year. I’d like to dedicate this to my former love, Amolo, he that embraced the polycolor with reckless abandon (and in the process managed to kick me and mine to the curb). Boss, I get it now. Or not. No, definitely not.
These are my options tonight, a night of song and dance at the almost local with a bunch of deviants who have somehow managed to instil the fear of God into me, for real, or a night on the sofa with Dexter and a cup of tea. Hmmm… Deviants or serial killer? Considering the strange men I meet in bars these days, I’m not sure there’s any difference. Oh well, such is life. Merry Christmas, my lovelies. Be happy, be
safe, be good (or not).
