That’s exactly what the receptionist said to me this afternoon as I was paying a doctor’s bill. I had just made fun of their new office sign which said: Settle Your Encounters Here. “Encounters? Good grief. Why don’t you just say, ‘Bills?’ Are we going back to the 70’s or something?” The young receptionist, (who reminded me of Tina Turner back in the day), just laughed. “Well, No,” she replied. “It just sounds nicer.” “Yeah,” I replied. “But let’s call a spade a spade. Here is my Visa to pay the BILL and THIS I said pointing to my hair is GRAY HAIR.” “Oh , No,” she hurriedly said. “Gray is the New Blonde.”
If only that were really true, hair colorists wouldn’t be making a veritable fortune off the Baby Boomers right now. But not me. I’m keeping every lovely strand of the stuff right where it belongs–on my head. Back in the 60’s, my grandmother tried combing her hair with some dark, sticky goop from a bottle. Kind of looked like shoe polish really. Guess as the oldest high school counselor she felt she shouldn’t look quite so old. But she gave it up after a while. It stained her shirts and she was a practical woman. She played Bridge with some ladies who actually had blue hair. For years, I thought my own hair would turn that color when I got old.* But it didn’t. Apparently, I am the “new blonde,” in this present euphemism. I can live with that. Tina Turner is 70. Makes me feel downright young come to think of it. (*Excerpt from, “Kissing Tomatoes,” by Helen Hudson. http://www.helen-hudson.com.)
