When I was born my Dad took one look (1959 was the days of smoking and drinking in the waiting room, not telling your wife to breathe) at me through the glass into the new baby room (or whatever it was called) and loudly proclaimed (so the story goes), “There’s been some sort of mix-up. That Dago kid is not ours.” I had long black hair.
Well, Dad, there’s been some sort of mix-up again!
Check out the curls! Or is that called ‘wavy’? I’m diggin’ the wave in front that takes off from my cowlick. Brigitte says it will change again in a year or so. In any case, I have told her to pick a length she likes and I will keep that going. As far as the gray, I certainly had gray hairs before the Death Beam took its toll, but not that much. Hmmmmmm, do you suppose I’ve aged just a bit? It will be interesting to see how the wrinkles smooth out, or not. I feel like someone about 60 now (guessing). We’ll see how the appearance follows along as I head back down to someone who is 52. Exercise and diet. Oh, and drinking lots of water. Filtered, of course. The water equivalent of organic vegetables.
Since I already have fitted trays for my nightly fluoride bath of my teeth, I have ordered some teeth whitening liquid that goes in the same trays. After a life of coffee, and lately a lot of green tea, my yellow teeth will appreciate it.
But no facelift.