Thirty-six

I had a gray eyebrow hair.

I plucked it, along with those few dark hairs at the corner of my mouth; the beginnings of my grandma moustache. While there I noticed a real laugh line running from that corner up to the outer edge of my nostril. It’s deeper in some spots than others.

No one notices because I smile so much, but here in the mirror at 11 PM, face slack, I see it. And I wonder: why don’t I have dimple wrinkles? They get the same workout as the curve that made that line.

I’ve had a box of supermarket hair dye on my bathroom counter for ten months. In my twenties I colored my hair for an afternoon’s amusement, for a change.

This is the first box I’ve purchased to stop a change.

Keep it the same. Ignore the gray hairs I’ve earned in the past four years. When I use it, it will cover my gray — fool them all like a great bra.

No aging here; move along.