“Can I ask you a personal question?” asked the gal behind the checkout counter at the grocery store.

She was a stranger, but the store was only lightly populated at the moment and we’d been chatting about the weather, Easter, and the like while I paid. I figure I have nothing personal in my life anymore. My children don’t even knock on the bathroom door. “Sure,” I said with a shrug.

“How old are you?”

“Forty-one,” I answered. “Why?”

For the umpteenthmillionth time in a conversation, I wished I had a tape recorder going. It would make such a difference to know what her actual words were. All I know was she replied with something to the effect of how she colored her hair, and was often wishing she could just let it grow back to its natural color, but how she was afraid of what it would look like and she wondered how other women did it. Or something like that.

What I hope she was trying to say: “We appear to be about the same age, and you look great! Maybe I should take the step!”

What I mentally translated: “Wow, I wish I had the guts to go out looking as bad as you do! I didn’t think I dared show my gray, but you sure seem confident showing all of yours!”

I got home from the store and spent several minutes in front of the mirror peering at the silvery strands cobwebbing my hair.

“Husband,” I said, “do you think I should color my hair?”

He frowned. “Why? Do you think you should?”

I told him the conversation. He shrugged and said I should do it if I wanted to but not if I didn’t, and that it made no difference to him either way.

“But would you tell me if it did?” I persisted.

“Probably not.”

That’s what I thought. I love that about Husband. We’re big believers in  “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”

As is likely obvious, and not just to the checkout gal, I really don’t think much about my appearance. I hate paying more than $40 for a purse. I can’t stand shopping for clothes. I had my nails done just once (right before my wedding), I hate the way foundation makeup makes my skin feel, and you eyebrow people stay the heck away from me with your nasty little tweezers.

So right now, I have no plans to curl up and dye.

That said, every once in a while I’d like to look more like my Inner Child, who, if you ask me, is darned cute. Maybe I’ll stick all those gray hairs in a ponytail.