To be fourteen...

After my Sunday morning ritual of reading the paper from cover to cover I decided to do some work. After working, and because my computer was already on, I decided to watch something on surfthechannel.com. I stumbled accross 'my so-called life'. I remember that show from when I was just starting my teen years. In fact, I remember seeing it first on ABC and then on MTv.

Oh, I remember Jordan, Ricky, Angela and RyAnne (although I'm not sure how you spell her name). So I loaded up the first episode and decided to watch. It all came back to me, feeling so out of place, so different, like I had changed so much while still looking the same. I remembered how badly I wanted to be special and shine. I remembered what its like to be a teenager. It was so hard, figuring out the world, what was beyond my family, my friends, and my school.

I have to say it is an amazing show. It spoke to a generation and made its mark within all of us who were lucky enough to see it and it did it in only onse season. My so-called life was an amazing experiment of looking at life through the eyes of the fourteen year old girl we all wish we were.

And that has made all the difference...

I'm not really talking about the famous poem by R. Frost. Its a whole other thing...

I will admit to being on my way to becoming 'a woman of a certain age'. Its inevitable. We are all going in that direction and although I still have a few years to go, some greys starting rearing their uggly white heads recently.

Not really that recently. I noticed my first 'premature white' when I was about nineteen. I was excited about having some sign of maturity and liked it. Then, when I went to get my haircut last time I told my hairdresser that I thought I had noticed more than my usual single grey. His repply? 'yes, you do have quite a bit more!' Mortifying, really.

So, I had a visit from the famous M not so long ago. I didn't feel as pretty as I usually felt and thought that my friend would be dissapointed. Everytime I looked in the mirror that original whitey was there, sneaking out of my dark brown curls. Then it hit me: who cares if its there or not? not one single soul. 

The result? I yanked it out. Suddenly I felt ten times prettier, and younger. So while I am not determined to stop the white from a-coming, I know that having one less has truly made all the difference.