Good Lord, I am only 38 years old, but there's no denying the truth.
Last month I was cleaning a bathroom with brighter lights than my own and I discovered my first trembling filament of silver hair. My denial was great. I tried to convince myself it was a single strand of sun-bleached hair left over from summertime lake loungings, but alas, it was not so.
In the past few weeks these culprits have been turning up all over my head. At present, I can account for at least 10 gray hairs, all the way from north to south.
I know, some people start getting gray hair when they're 18. But if you don't go gray until you're older, then it means you're, well, older.
I guess my days of hanging out of Trans-Am T-tops at 90 miles an hour with Bon Jovi blasting are officially behind me. That's probably okay.