My hair had grown bushy.  My hair had grown out of control.  My hair was in need of some serious help.  So at lunch, I snuck out of the office and headed straight for a stylist’s chair.  Yes, you heard me right, I was about to get some style.

Over the next thirty minutes, I was transformed.  Transformed from bushy headed boy into a fine looking man.  I was pleased.

Upon arriving back at the office a friend noted my new haircut, but also observed that the stylist had missed one. Missed one?  Yeah, right.  Tell me another story.  I went about my day.

Later on, as I washed my hands in the restroom, I glanced into the mirror.  Dear God, my friend was right.  The stylist had missed one.  One single hair.  One out of the One Hundred Thousand on my head.

It was a single grey hair.  Placed about a centimeter from my scalp, it appeared to have taken root, while I had my bushy hairdo.  A grey pioneer trying to reclaim long abandoned forehead.

I took hold and yanked the offender from its roots.  A receding hairline is no reason to cause shame and a rogue hair should receive no mercy.