I found one.

A gray hair. My first confirmed one. The other few seen before may or may not have been actual gray hairs; they might have been highlights, or at least that is what I told myself. This one, however, is truly a grey hair. I know this because I have been so bad at getting my hi-lights touched up, that the first three inches of my hair closest to my roots is brown, while the rest is a combo of blonde & light brown shades. So this sucker totally stuck out when I spotted him today. (Incidentally, my panamama, la lady di, has no gray hairs. She has wonderful naturally blonde hair. My elusive dad is going gray. Another fabulous trait I have inherited from him apparently.)

Anyway, this discovery comes at the perfect time. As you may know, my birthday is on Wednesday. (I am telling you this so that you will remember to wish me a happy one next week. I love love love it when people remember my birthday. And yes, you can do it both ‘my time’ and whatever time zone you may be in.) I am going to be 26. I was ok with this until I started thinking about it. And occasionally during the past few days, I have had to try really hard to resist having one of those typical girly “Aaaaahhhhh, IamgettingoldIwillbealoneforeverandmystupidclockistickingandIwillnever
getmarriedorhaveafamily and what the hell am I doing in Singapore when I should be in the US settling down” crises. (Ok, so maybe the first part is typical. I will admit that the Singapore part is completely my own.)

But, like I said, I generally love my birthday. And the rational part of me knows that life is not a race and what I have going is great – great family, great friends, great job, great opportunities, great sex…ok, well maybe not enough great sex, but that’s a whole other topic for discussion… and that life will happen when it happens and whatever is meant to be will be. But the completely irrational part of me is all angsty about ‘missing out’ on things in the states while I am here. And I am reading this stupid novel right now, The Notebook, which is all romancy and mushy. I didn’t even like the movie so I don’t know why I thought I would like the book. The reading material combined with the fact that someone (ahem, Captain – and yes, you are stuck with the nickname whether you like it or not) told me that I need to hurry up or I am going to be a 51-yr old cat woman makes me uneasy. Not just because I am doomed to be alone, but also because I am very allergic to cats, and the thought of being alone with hives is just depressing.