Ray (inspecting my head, eyes widening): Wow.
Me: What?! It's lice, isn't it. I knew I had lice!
Ray: What? No, you don't have lice. (pause) It's worse. You have tons of gray hair.
Me: Oh. You think that's bad, look at this. *points to gray streak in the front, like that chick from What Not to Wear
Ray (*eyes bigger): WHOA.
Me: It's not me, it's my genetics.
Ray: Your genetics says you're old, and you need a dye job.
Me: Pshht. And a new boyfriend.
But I forgave him. What Ray misses in tact he makes up for in little blue boxes and fancy birthday dinners. With
Besides, what I lack in hair pigment I make up for in high heels, boxed brownies and laughing until I cry. Plus, I almost never turn my laundry pink anymore.
Youngins', you can't hold a candle to that.