The Old Grey Hair Just Aint What It Used To Be

Dang. 

One of my new med adjustments is that I no longer take methotrexate, which also means that I have Dr. Young Guy's permission to drink occasionally. And even a bit MORE occasionally than I was over the the holidays. I laughed when I read the package insert for Gengraf, my new med, when it tried to very diplomatically say, It's OK to drink alcohol while on this medication. JUST DON'T WASH THE PILL DOWN WITH A SLUG OF ALCHOL.

I wish I would have saved that sheet so that I could reprint that message. Superbly done.

So John and I and Greg and Terese were enjoying our Friday night let's eat dinner together thing, when the waitress approached us and asked if I wanted anything to drink. I told her that I would enjoy a rum and diet coke. The place was packed and noisy, so she leaned over and asked me if I wanted two shots of rum, to which I replied, Heck no! I'm a real lightweight! She nodded, scribbled something in her order pad and a few minutes later, plopped my drink down in front of me. It looked very, very diluted. Suspiciously heavy on the rum and light on the diet coke. One sip confirmed my assessment. She had to have misunderstood me and I was certain that drink had two shots.

Well, now. Dang. It was very strong....but very good. I sent the drink around the table for everyone else's opinion, but all but John passed. He took a sip and was undecided.

Whatever.

I flagged our waitress down and asked her to take this drink, and dump it into a much larger glass, then fill the new glass with more diet coke, which she did after looking at me as if I had grown a second head.

So I nursed this thing along, and somewhere between the sourdough bread appetizer and about midway through my shrimp fajita entree, I found myself with chin in hand and staring at Terese's mop of shiny dark and completely UN-GREY hair. She noticed, of course. Because by then I had leaned all the way across the table to peer closely at her scalp.

Dang. That drink was strong.

"What?" she finally said. In her teacher-that's-dealing-with-a-strange-student voice.

WHY don't you have any grey hair?, I demanded. Probably a bit loudly since......well, dang that drink was strong.

She sighed and then laughed. "Just my genes, I guess." And attempted to veer the conversation elsewhere.

But, hey. Julia after two shots of rum is an obsessive woman and wouldn't be deterred.

Do you have even one grey hair? I'm actually a few years younger than you. So not fair! I sat back in my chair, pouting. Two shots of rum makes Julia petulant, as well. And, in this very........um.......rational frame of mind, made a decision.

You know what? I proclaimed. Terese looked at me with her patiently-waiting-to-hear-what-crazy-thing-Julia-will-say-next look. I am never going to dye my hair again. I'm going totally natural. Grey. I'm going to love my grey hairs. Let 'em come, baby.

"Really?" She looked at me incredulously. I had actually surprised her this time. "With two weddings coming up?"

Yes. Really. I hate all those chemicals all over my hair every few months. And it's expensive. And I'm not kidding anybody, anyway. Everybody my age has their hair turn grey. INSTEAD OF YOU, you traitor.

"Ah." Terese settled back into her chair and looked at me smugly. "I give you a month. Tops."

This sounded like a challenge.

Bring it, woman.

Hm. I think there's a clause somewhere in challenge legalities, isn't there, that two shots of rum negates any agreements/bargains/or otherwise contractual arrangements?

Dang. That was a strong drink.