I challenged fate. And fate laughed at me.

I made a mistake today.

Stephen was joking about me needing to find a husband, and I said "Whatever, the average American woman doesn't get married until she's 26 these days. I got nothin' but time." 

Just taunting fate. Like it was no big deal.

Then later, I stood in front of the mirror playing around with parting my hair in different ways. Now, if you happen to be a woman of a certain age (the certain age being like, 20. Depressing) you may already be doing the horror movie watcher "No, don't do that! Never do that!" groan, because you know what's coming. 

A GRAY HAIR. Just sitting there. Growing out of my head. My 21 year old head. 

Look at this smug little bastard. 

First, there was confusion. I stared at the single glinting strand. What is THAT? That's a really blonde hair. But....no....NO.

Then there was denial. That isn't my hair. That is someone else's hair. Some person older than me must have....leaned over me and....a hair fell on my head. 

When I discovered, to my dismay, that it was indeed growing out of my own scalp, I yanked it out in a panic. I'm sure that when I threw open my bedroom door, crazyface a'blazin and clutching a single hair, Stephen thought I had finally lost my mind. 

"You know how I was saying I've got time to find a husband?  I WAS WRONG. I just found a GRAY HAIR. ON MY HEAD."

Poor Stephen. There really isn't a right response to that ("right" meaning one that won't send me spiraling further into the depths of despair), so all things considered, "I mean, it happens to everybody..." was a decent stab at it. 

"NO IT DOES NOT. NOT WHEN THEY ARE 21 YEARS OLD. This means I'm getting old and my eggs are going rancid inside of me and if I don't have a baby now then I NEVER WILL. GAAAAAaaaaaahhhhhh you don't understand!"

Then I tried to slam the door, but it doesn't shut anymore unless you push it with your whole body weight so I had to body slam it shut instead, and returned to the bathroom mirror to make sure no more of those little demons were hiding, waiting to surprise me the second I let my guard down. 

See, it's particularly difficult for me to fathom myself as old enough to have a gray hair because I am a person whose daily activities still involve watching cartoons and eating a lot of candy. The idea that I could be old enough for this is ridiculous. 

And I'm convinced that if I hadn't made the mistake of commenting out loud on my supposed youth, it never would have happened. That hair was waiting patiently, just below the surface. Then it heard me say that and it went "Oh-hoho, you think so? How about... NOWWWWWW!" and popped out like play-d'oh hair. 

Well played, universe. You have put me in my place. I shall disrespect you no more, lest I wake up tomorrow looking like this: