In my pre-BlogHer prep, I got my eyebrows waxed. I performed several impromptu fashion shows up and down the hall ways of my house. I practiced walking down the stairs without falling over in my new shoes. I packed enough so that if someone asked me to relocate to Chicago while I was there, I’d be all set. But  yet… I forgot something.

When I was leaning closer to the mirror Thursday night, checking out my hair prior to a party, I spotted the longest gray hair EVER. I, of course, grabbed that little monster and yanked it out by its root. Then I said to myself, “I canNOT believe I forgot to color my hair!”

So, I’m a little vain. The odd thing is that I’m not at all freaked out about aging. Sure, I don’t love the wrinkles (so far though, I can identify my wrinkles as smile-related wrinkles, so when I do get upset about them, I think about how I’ve earned them – by showing happiness and laughter) and the gray hair isn’t making me happy – but my birthday? I love it! In fact, if you follow me on Twitter, you know I’m already sending out birthday reminders monthly. Age? Nothin’ but a number.

But those gray hairs.

I’ll be darned if I’m going to deal with them or let them hang around. Every month, I buddy up with a box of Clairol and spend less than thirty minutes wiping out the most obnoxious sign of aging. And I plan to do it for as long as I feel I need to.