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.