'kay, I'll shut up after this

Last night, when I got home from Urgent Care, I was changing my clothes (back to pjs, hurrah, the day might end) and I looked in the mirror.

I didn't really care, not much, but Nolan, bless his heart, has some really foul breath right now (normal) and he'd been breathing it on me as I cradled him (no pillow) on the hard exam table.  I felt like I might look like his breath, so to speak, as crazy as that seems. 

I was about to take out my ponytail when I saw it.  Or I should say, them.  Winking, more than I've noticed in a while.

Grays.  Bastards!

I lamented to Mr W.  I was amazed that he was so unsympathetic.  "Why do they bother you so much?"  he asked.  "Why don't they bother you?"  I asked him.

"It's not a big deal to me."  I bit back "Because you don't have any hair" and instead asked, "Why not?"

"We're getting older.  We get gray hair.  Big deal."

"Hmphf,"  I huffed at him.  "Gray hair.  Once you get 'em, that just lessens your chances of ever being the hot girl," I moaned. (The elusive title.  Why does it matter?)

I'd be more offended at him had he not had this conversation with me earlier in the week...

I had on a relatively new top.  And I pointed out to him that he had not commented on it, I was being a little flirty and obnoxious, and I said to him, "You haven't noticed.  Aren't I cute?"  as I did the Vanna up-down-look-at-this hand motion with a pause at boob level, of course.  He rolled his eyes, and sighed the sigh of a man, a husband who knows.

"You look good, hon.  You always do."  He says it with such sincerity, I start to giggle.  "Doesn't she, boys?" he looks over at Ben and Ryan, and they chime in "Yeah, Mom, you always look nice,"  as Mr W goes on, "Even first thing when she gets up in the morning,she looks good, right, boys?"  he turns back to me.

"Why are you blushing, Anna?"  he points out.  I giggle some more.

"Thanks, just....thanks."  I continue to feel my face get hotter, and I can't have him look at me anymore, I walk into the kitchen, giggling, shaking my head.

Not what I expected.  It sounds cheesy, but he really was sincere.  To spoil it with the usual "you're full of shit" song-and-dance would cheapen the moment and not make it likely that he would compliment me ever again. 

I guess now that I think about it, if he is cool with what I look like early in the morning, then a few gray hairs are probably not going to dampen his enthusiasm, any more than the lack of hair on his part would dampen mine.

And that's hot.