Aging disgracefully

Lucy has a great post about noticing "signs of age . . . err . . . maturity" in herself. I can relate to just about everything she lists, and I would probably add something about wanting to smack the skateboarders who like to practice their moves on the sidewalk corner outside our house as well as the idiots who drive through the neighborhood with their car stereos pounding -- don't they know what that's going to do to their hearing?

Yesterday I learned that my insistence on not fighting all the visible signs of aging may actually be cutting edge. According to the Shaw Report in this week's Entertainment Weekly, red chunks are out, brown lowlights are five minutes ago, and graylights are in. Graylights? I'm loaded with 'em! How much more fun to think of them as graylights instead of white hairs.

I'm going to be 44 tomorrow, and suddenly I don't mind at all.