One of the unexpected results of my hair-cut, and the flashy (or old-man comb-over style, whichever way you think of it) part has been the discovery of grey hairs. They seem to be clustered in one spot, buried somewhere on the left side of my head, only recently exposed by the extreme part that my hairstylist artfully insists on giving me, and which I can never maintain.
My cousin discovered the first one. "My goodness, Laura! You've got a grey hair!!"
I had a curious sense of mingled confusion and pride. On the one hand, I've never felt like I really grew up, like I'm still stuck in some vague young adult land, and I've only just recently left behind my teenage/undergrad years. I think part of this stems from the fact that I've only just gotten a "real" job and can seriously consider looking for a house, accept the dawning possibility of kids, and notice how my folks are getting older. So here was proof that I'm really nearly a third of a century old, that I'm actually an adult.
I just wish my grey hairs were up front, so I could grow them out like Rogue from X-Men.