Cheese with That Whine

I think I'll be 60 now.  It isn't really so far off the mark, and it is a very good number.  The fact that it isn't accurate doesn't signify. Women have lied about their ages for time out of mind, so I'll be neither the first nor the last.  I may be 60 for three or four years before I'm done. My dad and his mom both died in their early 50s, so what if I don't make 60 for reals?  How disappointing! 

I look every one of my 59 years (next month). . . nearly.  Must we speak of the hair thing?  I've been cheated, and that's that.  Carolyn has some gray hair, Betty has quite a bit of gray hair, and MISSY has gray hair.  Really?  Missy is seven years younger than I am!  What's up with that?

My only real ambition in life has been to be an old person.  I outlined that goal when I was five years old and stayed a few days with my Grandma Fronk.  In my five year old mind, I wanted her life.  I'm sure she could have told me it wasn't all that and a bag of chips in reality, but she didn't.  

So, here I am at 58 and 31/32. Sure, I'm statuesque (say fat), have some wrinkles and funky spots, and gray hair.  So why am I complaining about sisters who have gray hair, you ask? Because their gray hair can be seen!  

I was a blondy when I was little, the only one in the family of seven children.  For years I was sure I was adopted because everyone else had dark hair.  As time passed my hair did get darker, but at this late date it has only reached mousy brown.  All my beautiful white hairs blend in with the mousey stuff and disappears. I've been rooked!

Grandma Johnson died in 1945 at the age of 51, and pictures of her show a lovely head of white hair.  Her mother had glorious white hair.  Grandma Fronk had gray hair. Mom didn't.  When Mom was 80, she still had a full head of natural brunette hair.  

Under the circumstances, it might be fun to take advantage of my invisible white hair.  Or not. Everyone will just think that I color my hair.  Who on earth would choose this color?