“Hold still.”
Before I can protest, my sister yanks a hair from my scalp.
“Got it!” She holds the gleaming grey strand like a trophy. “Once you find the first grey hair, it’s all downhill.”
I retreat to the bathroom and stare into the mirror. Another grey hair. Sigh.
I mimic my sister, reaching up to pull the offending hair. It feels like it’s attached to my brain.
A drop of blood runs from my hairline, but I can’t stop. I pull harder.
My skin rips before the hair releases, opening my scalp like a zipper.
My sister was right.
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