Sitting at a stoplight with my two sons in the backseat, I decided to pluck an unruly and oh so unattractive gray hair that was protruding from my scalp.

They’ve been peeking through my blonde strands on occasion, as much as I hate to admit it. Forget dying them, I just yank em out and call it a day, figuring it was my little secret. Until my 8-year-old mumbled this from the backseat…

‘You pulling out your Granny hairs, Mom?’

Yes, son. Yes I am.

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