One morning this past week, my body decided to remind me that I have left my youth behind me for good. Since daylight savings time, we've enjoyed nice sunny mornings here in the north of England. (It's getting on towards the time of year when the sun doesn't really fully set here until nearly 11pm, which is pretty, but a right pain in the ass when trying to put a three year old to bed. 'But the sun hasn't gone to bed yet! I want to stay up til the sun goes to bed!' Thank the Lord for blackout curtains).
Anyway, in the morning now our bathroom is full of warm sunshine, filling it with bright light, which always starts my day off in a good mood. I wake up and am usually out the door before anyone else in the house is up, and I enjoy the peace of the morning routine. (The preceding statement would make my mother's jaw hit the ground, if she could figure out how to turn on the internet to read it). I was in mid-facial-shave contortion - one of those face stretching angles that thrust my chin forward and upper lip out - when I saw it.
It was a nose hair.
And it was white.
What the hell?! It was only a few years ago that my nose decided to sprout a jungle, and now they're turning white? When did this happen? Why wasn't I invited to vote on that decision? I had seen some grey hairs on my head previously, but only confined to the parts I ask the barber to trim.
Soon after my nose decided it was jealous of the hair on the rest of my head and began an earnest effort to catch up, I had promised myself I would tend to that new patch with some diligence, and avoid ending up like some of those old guys who can braid the stuff coming out their nostrils. This is another one of those things that isn't in the Handbook On Getting Older but should be. If we have a son, I will do better by him, and pass this bit of sage advice on before he leaves the house: Nose hair is not sexy. Tend to it. Also, your prostate is not your friend.
I realized I had been standing in front of the mirror in the same position, razor halfway through a pass, staring into my nostril at the latest insult time had inflicted on my body for nearly five minutes.
No doubt this is not the last insult time will have for me. And I am sure that as the grey hairs continue to crop up, I will have to get used to it. I think this one scared me not as much for where it is, but for where the next one my show up.