Lately, every time I turn around, it’s March 16th. So what, right? Well, on this past March 16th, I found myself hitting 45 years on this Earth. 45. That’s halfway to 90. And yet, I don’t feel a day over 70. I’d launch into the whole 45 is the new 35 schtick, but I believe I mentioned my age, so I don’t have the energy or the time for that foolishness. Plus, I found a grey hair today, imagine how traumatized I am about that.
Speaking of old grey mares, in a recent magazine interview, the silvery state of my head was, as usual, a topic of interest. The journalist asked if I was surprised that some people thought it braver to bare my hair than to ditch a whole way of life. Answer: Hell, yes. I still don’t get that.
I can’t be the only one who thinks going au naturel is no big deal, but I might be in the minority. The other day a news item caught my eye. The BBC was investigating why there is a sea of black heads in the Chinese parliament. Most of them are over 50, yet not a hint of grey to be found in the lot. Genetics? Un-undiscovered anti-aging property found only in hot and sour soup? I think not.
Apparently, Chinese politicians are all about the Grecian Formula. And it’s probably a good thing, too. Here’s what one fine citizen, Hong Haiting, had to say…
“I don’t want to see my leader with grey hair. It will make him look old…like he’s about to die. How could a person like that lead our country? This is a political issue, not a lifestyle one.”
Somebody poke that fool with a chopstick. Of course, one can only take the word of Hong, stylist at the Sassy Hair Salon, with a grain of rice. Sad news for me though since there’s one job offer that won’t be coming my way: Chief Communist. Their loss I say because I’d be awesome at running China—” A Peking duck in every pot!!”
Seriously though, the nerve of discriminating against the likes of me in that impertinent manner! Mind you, speaking of discrimination, even if my hair was as black as night, that second X chromosome of mine would likely be enough to keep me out of the top spot, but I digress.
So, now I’m officially old and I’m officially offended by China, well, one Chinese hairstylist. And let me tell you, I’m in full-on protest mode. During my birthday dinner at Hong Kong City, I ordered in French, used my knife and fork to cut the spring rolls, and I refused a third helping of Shanghai noodles. Long live the revolution.