This morning, when we were sitting on the couch, Rhiannon looks at me for a while and asks, "When did your dad get grey hair?" My reply was that I don't really remember. Frankly, I don't really remember him with all much hair to begin with, although I have seen photos that show he did at one time have a full head of it. The fact that I don't remember him with hair really scares me, as that type of tendancy seems to be a little genetic.
I asked her why she wanted to know, and she told me that I am starting to show more than a few lighter, rather colorless hairs on my head.
So, in honor of the fact that I may or may not be getting some gray hairs, my body is trying to tell me I'm old. A day of working in our garage installing wiring and insulation plus an afternoon of running around the roof hanging Christmas lights has left me with nothing more than the desire to lay very still and never have to move again.
After the age of 25, when your car insurance goes down, I don't really see much upside to the aging process.