Immediately after yanking the offensive hair, I called my mother. For as long as I could remember, she bought a box of brassy auburn Nice n Easy every time myself or my younger siblings did something to cause another grey hair to appear — at least, that’s what she said caused grey hair. After laughing at me, she told me to wait until I had kids to really know what grey hair was like.
Fifteen years and two children later, I’ve brought home more boxes of hair dye than I care to admit (not to mention the number of times I’ve sat in a stylist’s chair getting highlights). Pretty much every six weeks you can find me in my rattiest running race t-shirt trying not to drip dye on my couch, with the kids, husband and pets hiding from the tell-tale stink of bleach and toner.