Ed and I traveled to the San Antonio Riverwalk with friends for a weekend break. While there, we had drinks with our friends and a couple of total strangers. All six of us were having a nice time in our hotel lounge when one of the strangers asked a question that shocked me to my soul. He asked who was older, Ed or I. I may have had premature grey hair from an early age but at least I have hair. Ed is nine years my senior. Obviously Ed was complimented and all three of the others were amused. Shortly after our little group broke up I insisted that Ed and I go to the only drug store on the Riverwalk to buy some “Just for Men”. When we got back to the hotel room Ed went to bed while I followed the step by step directions on the box. I finally went to bed confident that I had restored my trophy husband looks. In the morning we met our friends for breakfast and, as soon as they saw me, they burst out laughing. Through my mind’s eye, I looked quite dapper. To others (and I had to agree when I took a second look) my hair was orange. Apparently my hair doesn’t absorb inexpensive hair color well. When I got back to Dallas it cost me about $100 to go to a professional salon for old ladies to get it properly colored. The alternatives seemed to be a “redye” or I had to live with the orange hair until it grew out. The second option was not tolerable to my self respect or vanity.