This is the end. Of my youth, that is.

Do I even need to write the words to explain this picture? Come on, you can see it for yourselves. You know you can. Yes, that is gray hair in my bangs. And no it's not blond, but that was nice to say.

Do the first signs of aging really need to be exposed in my bangs? Come on. This area gives me enough challenges to overcome. They never quite look the same each day, never really fall into a place that looks acceptable. Without the gray, my bangs already look like a section of hair that doesn't belong on my head. Even a can of Aqua Net can't fix that.

Okay now seriously, do you have to dye your whole head because of this? I'm guessing yes, which means dishing out like $100 to color my hair multiple times a year. More money down the drain. Thanks aging.

Getting old

My dog Fife is old. I'm guessing he's somewhere between 75 and 180, but that's just a rough estimate.

Getting old totally blows, according my observations of this old, fat beagle. He's on pain medication. He sleeps all the time. He can't walk around the block without getting pretty winded.

Add to this his recent propensity to start barking very loudly, and randomly, at 2 o'clock in the morning. Out of nowhere, it sounds like he's warning the family about the clan of serial killers outside our windows. It's a pretty horrible way to be woken from a vivid dream about the real morning jog I have scheduled just a mere four hours away.

We've decided these night terror barks are from failing eyesight. He wakes up and it's dark outside. He sees a shadow. Bark. Bark. Bark... Not only is he old and sick and dealing with his failing eyesight, now the whole family hates him.

That's just a clear-cut case of insult to injury if you ask me.