A stupid study, a patch of white, and my ensuing quarter life crisis

It seemed as though the world was trying to tell me something yesterday. Everything looked a little bleaker, a little darker, a little more morbid. Everywhere I looked there were signs. SIGNS OF IMPENDING DOOM. Clearly someone had a message to send and was not being the least bit subtle about it. 

The first sign was sent my way at the gym. I was minding my own business, huffing and puffing away at my elliptical (aka holding on for dear life), when the super fit sixty year old on the machine next to me requests a channel change. It irritated me to no end that he sounded ABSOLUTELY FINE while I was practically wheezing and had to carefully and deliberately choose between breathing and talking. Also, why anyone wants to watch anything but mouth-watering cupcakes, donuts, and pastries being made and waved temptingly in your face as you strive to run off the two cookies you already ate today is completely beyond me? Watching all those yummy delights is the closest thing to a contact sugar high you can get! But what do I know. Anyways, the channel is changed to the local news station, and you see a banner fly across the giant flat screen "Were you born in October?" Yes, I think gleefully! Yes, I was. What wonderful things are they going to announce about people born in October. Perhaps we October-ites have been deemed the most successful of all the months? Or the kindest? Or the most beautiful (wishful thinking)?

But no. That would have been too easy. Instead, my heart sinks as I discover that a recent study done by Columbia University has identified October as the unhealthiest month to be born in. WHYYYYYYY?!? According to this study, people born in October have the overall highest risk for the 55 diseases that were studied including asthma, heart disease, and ADHD. WHY ME?! I have so much to live for: there are still hundreds of desserts I haven't tasted and thousands of restaurants I still need to try. Don't you dare try and take that away from me. After dropping this awful bombshell on a grief-stricken, heartbroken ol me, the reporter casually mentions as an afterthought that Dr. Tatonetti says "It's important not to get overly nervous about these results because even though we found significant associations the overall disease risk is not that great." THANKS! That was very comforting! NOT.

So I was already midway to a full blown panic attack as I was driving home from the gym. As soon as I got home, I haphazardly flung my sneakers into the living room, dropped my gym bag on the dining table (who cares if I make a mess, my days are numbered anyways) and went upstairs to take a shower. As I was combing out my hair, I noticed a little white hair. I quickly looked around (to make sure no weird spirits/ghosts was watching me in my own bathroom of course) and plucked it out. Phewww, I thought. This had been happening every 4 or 5 months since I had turned 21. I would find a white hair while combing or straightening my hair, pluck it out real quick, and pretend like it never happened. That was just the way I chose to live my life. Happily, and white hair-lessly.

Little did I know that my life would never be the same again. I was mere seconds away from entering a focal turning point: I would officially become OLD in about 8 seconds. I kept combing, and as I was pushing away hair, I noticed a suspicious shimmer. Now my hair is naturally fairly shiny, but this particular strand of hair had caught the light and had a distrustful air about it. Keeping the ensuing panic attack at bay, I decided that further exploration was necessary before any decisions were made (time to throw away my savings on that red convertible?) or conclusions drawn. I parted my hair and was going through it inch by inch, when I discovered IT. IT was a patch of FOUR white hairs located 3 centimeters to the left of my part. I will remember IT for the rest of my life. IT had officially plunged me into old age. Before I know it, my hair will all be white, I'll be stooped over a cane and screaming like a banshee at my deaf husband (assuming I find someone crazy enough to willingly enter the last legal form of slavery with me). It will all go downhill from here on out, I thought. This is it, I'm officially past my peak, my prime. It was with those sad thoughts that I went to bed. 

When I woke up today, I was completely fine. I looked in the mirror and thought, I'm young, I still have plenty time. Who cares what Columbia University or my evil hair follicles think. And then I spotted it. The evil, white, glinting, silvery 3 inch piece of hair that was marshaling in my inevitable doom lying oh so innocently on the bathroom counter...