Cereal American

I’m almost over being back in the US. There are some telltale signs. I don’t say the Ugandan English staple phrase “ok please” that much anymore. I no longer need to wear 14 layers of down when I’m in doors. This morning, the way I knew for sure that I was re-adjusted was that I poured myself a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats (yes, the sugar cereal for adults) and I thought, “Ugh, Frosted Mini Wheats again.” And we all know that the DNA code for American is based on cereal likes, dislikes and dreams. Cereal dreams?

Anyway, I kinda hoped I’d always say “ok please” or “thank you please.” I also thought I could get away with binge eating my favorite American foods forever, the way I used to when I was just visiting from Uganda. The fact is, I don’t really want to anymore. That desperate fantasy I used to have in Gulu about pretzels (pretzels!) disappeared after I ate 5 Rolls Gold. It only took 5 pretzels to be sick of them. Now the bag just sits there and I think, “come on, eat it, it’s pretzels!” Not so much.

The other kookypants thing that is happening is that both me and my dog are going through physical changes and to our hair in particular. Jeter, it turns out, was bleached in the sun, because he now has developed caramel colored patches on his face. I, as it turns out, am not goldeny tan year round. But I had suspected that might be true. I did not anticipate hair changes though. The good news is my hair has started growing again, albeit still very slowly. The bad news, no, the TERRIBLE news is that my hair is rapidly turning gray. What the what?! I remember when I got my first gray hair. I had just turned 32 and I thought it was funny, plucked it out and didn’t think about it again for years. In Gulu, I had one gray hair that would pop up right in the middle of my head. So I plucked it. And then it popped up again. Pluck. Pop. Pluck. Pop.

This morning I spent 20 minutes trying to pluck out my gray hairs and realized it was futile and it freakin hurt. Was it the stress of the move? Was the sun bleaching my gray hair? Were those golden Gulu highlights masking my biological betrayal? Speaking of that last point, I remember being 19 and a half and thinking that I wouldn’t dye my hair when I started going gray, because I wanted to be natural. Oh I was so principled at 19 and a half…principled and STUPID! Now my mantra hearkens back to that old jingle from the 80s “gonna wash that gray right outta my hair.” I wonder if that stuff is still available. Seriously.

But does this mean from now, from age 36 and nevermind how close I am to 37, I have to start dying my hair? I think my mom dyed her hair for the first time when she turned 50. Does being half white really close the aging distance by 14 years?! Jesus, am I only 14 years away from 50?! Now I’m depressed and gray.

I know. Maybe I’ll dye it now and then go au natural when I’m forty something. No I won’t.