I have a nest in my hair. It likes to hide above my right ear where I won’t spot it if my hair is down. But if I lift up a few of my lovely locks, there it is, sitting there. Taunting me. No matter what I do to try and exterminate it, it always comes back.
A nest of – gasp, can I even say it aloud? – gray.
That’s what I call it. I’m not quite sure why. Maybe because the grays look like pieces of straw sticking out of a birds’ nest against my dark hair. Or maybe because, like a bird building a nest in someone’s chimney, these white strands have come to roost in my do uninivted. How rude!
I’m fortunate that the nest decided to make its home somewhere hidden. It could just have well have decided to come to rest on the top of my head, making me look like Cruella de Vil’s hippie sister. Days will go by and I’ll forget about it. And then one day, I’ll be looking in the mirror as I put my hair up and – bam! – there it is all over again. The dam nest. Out come the tweezers. Ahhh, what a sense of accomplishment I get from grabbing onto one of those stubborn bastards and yanking it out. I hold up the long gray hair to admire its pluck and tenacity for hiding me for so long. “You can run, but you can’t hide,” I say to the gray.
But yes, in fact, it can.
Maybe instead of a nest I should be calling it a swarm. Because that’s what I find on occasion. I’ll let out a gasp as I count one, two, three, four, five…wait…is that the light shining on my hair or another gray one? Dam it, six! It’s almost overwhelming. Me against six feisty grays. Not very fair fighting odds. I dig into my arsenal of weapons – do I need the dull tweezers or the sharp one, or can I manage by just pulling them out with my fingers?
Upon discovering a swarm I think back to the week’s events. What caused this recent occurrence? Was it Kaiden’s tantrum on the floor of the public bathroom, or was it the seven overdraft charges I incurred in a single day? It would be nice if each gray hair came with its root cause attached, like a clothing label. You’d pull one out and search for the tag. It would read: “May 4, 10:41 a.m., children fighting in car while stuck in traffic.”
Like a poltergeist or the Governator, these gray hairs just keep coming back. I’ll yank them all out one day only to have them back the next. I haven’t quite figured out yet why the grays seem to congregate on my right side above my ear (they like the two earring in that ear as opposed to the four in my left?) Of course, I’ll find the occasional stray wondering around my left side, but I soon put him in his place. Yank! That ought to teach them. I look to see if the right-side grays are cowering in fear, if they realize what fate lies before them. But they’re just laughing at me. They know the truth – they can multiply faster than I can tweeze.
So if my grays are procreating like rabbits, maybe they’re collectively not a nest or a swarm. They’re a burrow.
I think this is a job for Elmer Fudd.