Hair dye.

That’s what I’m grateful for. If there was no such thing as hair dye, I would be as white as a New England winter, look at least five years older than I am and feel 20 or 30.

You could say, “Who cares? You’re old and you’re married.”

But the answer to that is I care. Not as much about how I look, as how I feel. How you feel is a lot of the game. There is a reason the old “If you look good, you feel good” cliche is so popular, it’s true. I perform better when I feel good about how I look. Of course, I’m not talking about a stage or screen performances, you silly, I’m just talking about walking around my life. Not having gray hair just makes me feel better, like myself. I know, who I am is really a gray-haired woman, and that is myself these days. But that’s not who I feel like I am. I feel like I am still a brown-haired woman.

“Does she or doesn’t she?” the popular ad used to ask. You bet your ass I do.

I love anyone who goes gray. I wish I felt good doing just that, because the amount of money and time I spend getting brownified is just plain stupid. I know several women with gray hair who look positively stunning and loads of men, too. The women happen to be beautiful women, which I am not. My guess is that these women feel good being gray. But maybe I should start polling them to see how they feel. Was going gray a decision not to cave into society’s brutal youth culture? Was it because it’s natural and easier, or because they actually think silver hair is attractive?

Anyway, I am here to say I have a shampoo sink full of gratitude for dye. I have informed my family that if I kick the bucket and my hair isn’t a perfect shade of multicolored brown, they must make sure my hair is dyed before I go wherever I am going. I am not arriving with gray hair.

I mean who wants to worry about gray peeking through for the rest of eternity? Can you imagine anything more tedious?

And that, that is all.