We were sitting in church this morning when Paul reached over and pulled a single long hair off the sleeve of my sweater. He held it up and we could both see it shimmering silver in the overhead lights.
I leaned over and whispered, “It’s official. You’re married to an old lady.” He chuckled quietly.
I thought a moment. “Does it bother you? The gray? I could color it, you know.”
“No, don’t,” he said, and gestured wryly to the silvery streaks emerging in his own beard and sideburns.
I smiled. “Well, then–I guess we’ll just go gray together.”
Grinning, he reached over and took my hand before leaning to whisper in my ear.
“That’s the dream.”