In a way, I don’t mind getting gray hair. It’s like naturally produced glitter, and I enjoy thinking of myself wandering the highways and byways with a head of hair that will give you a flash or sparkle when you least expect it.

I am, however, deeply perturbed (can one be deeply perturbed? Or is perturbation by nature a rather mild experience?) by the tensile strength of those wiry buggers. It doesn’t matter how many other hairs are trying to weigh it down, if it is newly growing in or freshly broken off, it will find a way to jut straight out, sometimes as much as 2.5 inches in the air.

Its very nature makes me want to destroy it. It stands tall, proud, a little less than straight because even in straightness it will not conform, like an artist or revolutionary in a totalitarian regime, rising from the masses and shining alone in the light of truth. Like any regime, my response is immediate and uncompromising: the hair must be mown down! Plucked from among its brethren and sent somewhere where it will never be remembered! Down with upstarts! Let the sorry fate of this hair be an example to the rest.

You can be a little unusual, I tell my hair after crushing such a strand into a bent snarl and flushing it down the toilet in full view every remaining strand. Be any color you like, be a little shorter or longer than your neighbors, convert to Veganism. It’s all the same to me, I say. But beware– should you stand up from amongst them, should you try to assert your own will in a way that makes me notice– you, too, shall be destroyed, and in an even more gory, public way than the last one was! Let this be a lesson to every hair among you.

What our President’s hair would look like if he did not do likewise with his own unrulies (I rest my case):
Gray Hair

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