Turns out, they’re quite useful.

My smallish people that is. As I was unthinkingly going through my morning habit of straightening my hair, I looked into my three-way mirror and caught a quick glimpse of what appeared to be a gray hair sprouting from the back of my head. Normally I find the little bastards towards the front, more favorably placed where I can promptly pluck them. Not this one. I used tweezers and fingernails but was unable to grasp it. I tried persuading the maverick strand to lie still under the more fetching brown hairs, but it persistently reappeared. I found myself unable to continue my beautification until the mutineer was removed. I called to the Boy, who usually likes to “help” me apply makeup or “style” my hair. This usually involves every bobby pin I own, copious amounts of pink blush, and spray bottle of water. But I digress.

Me: Honey, do you see that white shiny hair in the back of Mama’s head?

Boy: I think so.

Me: Could you pull it out for me?

Boy: Just that one?

Me: Yes, try not to pull out my good hairs, I need those.

He proceeds to unsuccessfully pull out the one gray hair. He does, much to my displeasure, manage to yank out 40 good brown hairs, give or take a few. He beckons to the Girl, who was curiously watching from the doorway, to lend him a hand. As my scalp continued to be prodded and marred by 20 small fingers, I began to wonder if I should just let the gray hair be. Of course it was during this thought that the Boy yelled “got it!” Great, I think to myself, thank you, I really appreciate your help. Now would you mind bringing me the dust-buster? I have to clean up this mocking heap of brown that formerly existed on top of my head. As a slight headache starts to creep from the back of my skull, I just smile.