Booby-trap

What a wacky morning…

Going into the details would only compel me to relive its idiocy and grinding boredom, so I won’t. We’ve all had these mornings. This one culminated in a search for a professional type envelope in which to send my invoice for the project, a search that resulted in the discovery of a photo album. Could I throw it out? I will, but I had to look through it, and in it I found photos that would mean something to somebody else. Damn. Responsibility… And the need for another envelope.

But I did find this photo. That was a wonderful day at Yellowtail Reservoir with my Aunt Jo, Uncle Hank, my mom and my ex. My shirt? My ex found it in a locker room where he worked, and brought it home for me. “San Diego School of Baseball” it said, and it was my favorite shirt for a long time. In the photo, I’m 34 or so. You see how gray my hair was already.

I believe this was the Montana visit that elicited, “I’m too young for a gray haired daughter!” that led to the decades long addiction to hair color products. Tough habit to break, but I did it.

 

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4 thoughts on “Booby-trap

  1. My hair also went gray very early, as had my mother’s before me. I remember when she also looked at me and with genuine shock, said: “You’re going gray!” I think it was more a personal shock to her that somehow, she’d gotten old enough to have a gray-haired daughter. Didn’t we ALL go through long years of dying? Until my hair finally went all white, at which point there didn’t seem any more point in fighting the battle.

    Hey, I had to go to the BANK yesterday. Now THAT was a real shocker!

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