to pluck or not to pluck

It's the age-old question: what does a girl do with her gray hairs?

Now, I'm a plucker. I see 'em when they're about two inches long -- although, how they get that long without my noticing is beyond me -- and I like to grab them and yank them out by the root, throw them on the ground, stomp on them until they're dead, scream at them for ruining my life, and then walk away, as if nothing had ever happened.

This is all well and good (and garners me very few sidelong glances from my coworkers), as I only have about four or five gray hairs at any given time. In fact, I've convinced myself that that's all I ever have; they just keep growing back in the same spot. (Whether this is true or not... la la la, I can't hear you!)

Recently, however, I've taken a break from the plucking and chucking and grinding-into-mucking, and I've let them grow in.

The result? I'm now totally convinced that I have a thousand gray hairs, because every time I see one I've seen before, I think it's new. The stress of this is causing more gray hairs, and I'm now forced to go back to plucking, just to maintain some semblance of order in my life.

I'm telling you: it's very hard to be me.