I'm 26 years old. Everyone in my family has freckles, if not all the time, at least when they're tan. This summer for the first time EVER I have freckles on my face. I love them. I don't want them to go away when I hibernate for winter, but I fear they will. This makes me feel young and fresh! Easy breezy!

However, in my ripe old age of 26 (I'll be turning 27 in January) I have discovered the bane of my existence: gray hair.

I'm 26 and I have gray hair. There. I said it. And we're not talking occasional gray hairs. Any day of the week if someone asked me "Do you have gray hair?" I could say yes and point to where they are. I started plucking a few, but now there are enough that I get nervous I'll pluck too much and end up with sparse patches.

I guess things could be worse. I could be completely gray. Or I could have no hair at all. I'm being a baby about this anyway, though, because I don't dye my hair. I only get it cut twice a year. I cannot afford, nor do I want to be chained to, regular salon appointments. What's a girl to do?

On the topic of getting old, I had an interesting experience today:

I was all proud of myself this morning for my sophisticated outfit. I had an important meeting that happened to have a cute boy at as well. Double reasons for me to look nice. I'm wearing a khaki pencil skirt, gold ballet flats, a
white button up, and this cool necklace I ordered from Urban Outfitters that's big, green, and plastic. (Like a strand of large jelly beans, only bigger.)

Classy! Sophisticated! Stylish! Right?

Then I caught a glimpse of myself in B's side mirror on our way to the meeting.

I look like one of those young women in Chico's ads that make you think "girls like that DO NOT shop at Chico's".

I started laughing out loud, but didn't think B
would understand. If only my skirt was linen.

It's a Chico's kind of day.