The Diamond Glint

A BOLD FEW have actually inquired. Oh-so-subtly, or cattily. Lady-like, they all had a sharp, bright gleam in their eyeshadow-accented eyes when they asked. They tell me they have caught it: the frequent but fleeting hints of glitter.

Well, it wasn’t the sparkle of my just-polished pearlies when I flashed my dazzling smile in greeting. Nor was it the mischievous glint in my eye as I engaged my dinner companions in scintillating conversation :P

Actually, it was when my fingers casually flicked my hair back as I stood beside my car and promised to meet up again soon, that the afternoon sun caught the diamond glints.

It was when I tossed my head back in happy laughter during the after-dinner conversation, that the downlights captured a cascade of tiny, tiny, shiny glints.

No, it wasn’t the winking in my ear-lobes or the swinging drop of brilliance dangling from my neck or the slithering shimmer encircling my wrists.

It is rather like the forgotten, tiny shred of silver tinsel on a dark green arm of the undressed Christmas tree, that quickly catches a child's hungry eyes. It didn't escape their sharp eyes and quicksilver minds. It held their piercing gaze and left them wondering. It left a faint smile on their glossy lips.

Well, I know I certainly have not earned it. Yet. Nor have I suddenly come into any inheritance.

It seems like only yesterday I was youthful. I awoke one morning this week to find more than a few gray hair strands where once only dark brown lived.

Curses!

I frantically parted my hair in the mirror, moaning in dismay at the perplexing arrival of the color gray. And then the next morning: more gray strands. Still more the following morning.

This can't be. Others get gray hair, not me. Of course it didn't happen overnight. But it's seemed that way.

This morning, I am an ascending old lady *sniff*

I must be greying at the grind. Like the workplace, my hair bulbs have become an "increasingly hostile place" for melanocytes to work properly. They are slowly losing the battle and my hair is becoming melanin-free.

Amid the hair not as luxurious as the days of yore, the (shallow) wrinkles have also arrived. A limber body is now visited by the odd stiffness. Amid all this, is born, a very hungry desire for sound investments.

Death is just around the corner, my precious.

Such being the case, I think I should wear it pixie-short from now on, whaddaya think? Should I dye it?

Why do flashes of silver or salt and pepper confer dignity on men and not women?

Curses!

Should I trade in my sparkling bright diamonds for the milky lustre of Mikimoto pearls?

Test: What’s your body’s real age