Silver is distinguished, right?

I found a gray hair the other day. Not, like, on the floor. In my hand. I had just taken a quick swipe through my hair to get rid of some knots, and there it was. I’ve written off potential gray hair before as blond, or not mine, but there was no hiding this one: it was long and silver gray, straight from my scalp. “It’s a beaut,” according to my dad. I sat and stared at it for a while, like it was a relic, a peso, a rare breed of frog. I mean, I am only 27. Was it from stress? Or am I just predetermined to have streaks of silver by the time I’m 30? Should I call Stacy London for advice?
“I started going gray in college,” my dad said. Great. This is the man I also inherited my blindness, incredibly crooked teeth and gastrointestinal drama from. Jennifer Aniston found a gray hair last week, too, right before her 40th birthday. She locked herself in the bathroom and cried. 40! Not 27! 40! At least I didn’t cry. I just put the hair in a baggie and showed it to my boyfriend. He wasn’t impressed.