This morning, Steph discovered that I had a gray eyelash.  This is the first bit of gray I’ve ever had.

She plucked it and as I held it in my hand, gazing down upon it, I thought of many things: I am no longer a young man.  I am getting older*.  No amount of playing computer games, reading comics, doing dangerous activities or acting childish will change that.

But most importantly, that one gray eyelash signifies a great moment, the moment when I can finally say with legal authority:

“Get Off My Lawn!”

I’m so happy.

*Addendum: I am not any wiser as I immediately asked Steph how she deals with her gray hairs.  I got hit.  I deserved it.