I’m seriously evaluating the possibility of dye me hair. Yes, I know that it is a frivolity with which is falling, but do you want to tell you if within nothing touches me meet 40 anazos and I can’t get to see me in the mirror with the several dozens of reeds that prodigious decade has left on my skull? I I always resist to attack my lush and characteristic capillary mass with dyes, ointments and various ammonia that would endanger its extraordinary vitality, so that the most that I’ve come in a matter of hairs _a of head, me refiero_ is to clarify its particular genetic tendency to the pelirrojez with some golden reflejito of those harmless that nobody noticed unless you plant the Reverend cocorota under the noon sun. Without forgetting, of course, back in my university stage, homemade herbal henna applications on the above, a method of capillary beautification that my then colleague of floor and race and that you write us spent Fund achieving _do It is cona_ two of the most striking Manes of the faculty. That already almost twenty years ago, thus it is that you a heart attack because of the tempus fugit, almost four decades in which my Leonine hair has not needed more than a daily shampoo and just a brief brushing occasionally to look majestic causing envy to feetlovers pelitenidas three to the fourth. Today, however _despues of a lot of life and winters that have passed me his voracious invoice by the cabeza_, I am the pale envious. And not to those beyond artificial and repainting Manes mean that lines above, but before the wild mata of hair of my eldest daughter, lush, unruly, tupidisima, redhead, strangely Celtic and reminds me of my own from years ago, when even he did not know the devastating effect of stress, anxiety, and the unpleasantness on the hairy heritage and las Canas I were as alien as the Crow’s feet or wrinkles in the soul. They say without much success who had, retained. . .