When you have gray hair people – usually much younger – look at you and make certain assumptions. The first time it happened to my premature gray husband, he had yet to reach his fortieth birthday. Hubby and a friend had gone to the movies.
“That’ll be $1,” the teen behind the glass said to my husband.
His friend, who had a full head of black hair, did not stop laughing. When they sat down, my husband said, “I don’t know why you’re laughing. I paid a dollar and you paid three!”
Now, 35 years later, Hubby is still blessed with a full head of hair, only it is no longer gray, – it is pure white. When we went to check our bags at the airport last week, the young skycap glanced at my husband’s hair as he asked for our boarding passes. “I see you checked in on-line,” he said. “You’re lucky you have grandkids that can do it for you otherwise you’d have to pay $3 per bag!”
The skycap turned redder than the red cap the skycaps of yesteryear wore when Hubby informed him he did it all by himself. Since our bags were the first two to appear on the luggage carousel in New York, I decided to forgive the skycap for assuming everyone with white hair is demented.
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