counting grays, not sheep, to sleep

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to have a girls' night out with some girlfriends from high school. High school.

Now while we all commented that we looked good for our age -- and you know I will always say that because I know I am fabulous in every way -- I got home that night and freaked out. High school was eons ago. And while I'm not ancient, I know I'm getting older. The girls I was with...one is married, the other is single...both don't have kids. Yes, I got married earlier than most. And yes, I became mom2amara earlier than most. But I guess that makes me feel older than I really am.

So off to my bathroom mirror I went, in search of the gray hairs. And let me tell you - I had a lot of them. Never mind that I have my naturally Asian black hair so anything on my head stands out like a sore thumb. But it became an obsession that night. I plucked every gray hair I could find. I was a madwoman trying to shift thru my hair piece by piece. My dear hubby had to call me to bed.

But really, how can people tell you age is just a number when there are more gray hairs than years pinpointed to my name?