Invincible Summer

I usually postpone committing to any New Year’s resolutions until my birthday (which happens to be today), seeing them as more “beginning of next year of life” goals.   I’m a little behind on these this year, still awaiting resolution on the job front, waiting for limbo to end to pen my year in review/hopes for the new year’s thoughts.     So for now, I will offer significantly more trivial words.     Namely, I’m going to talk about my hair. There are the changes we look forward to, those we dread, and those we outright refuse to accept.    Going grey is one of those things I currently refuse to accept.   I will be fine with having grey hair when I reach some appropriate age (an as yet to be determined number), but last night, on the eve of my 36 th birthday, I refused to begin age 36 with grey hair.   Every time I cover them up—those wiry, determined little bastards—they seem to go undercover, recruit others and suddenly arrive back on my head with a larger army of vengeance.     Not