When I was blonde and scrawny

My Grandma Florence always used to refer to this time in her life when she was "blonde and scrawny" (her words), but none of us could ever figure out when that time in her life could possibly have been because to the best of our knowledge she had never been either.  To her credit, she is quite trim in her wedding photo (she and Grandpa would have gotten married in 1932 or was it 1933?), but she maintained that the wedding photo was not taken until some time after the wedding because her own mother told her she was "too scrawny" to have her picture taken on the actual wedding date.  But her hair is clearly dark in the wedding photo, as it is in every other picture I have ever seen of her.  I think, possibly, she may have been embellishing a bit on the issue of being blonde and scrawny.

As for myself, I suppose there are some (my mother probably) who would consider me scrawny.  I'm not sure if that is true though.  Generally speaking, a size 2 is gigantic on me, but I still look like an over-fed walrus compared to most women around me.  Particularly college girls, who I am surrounded by most of the time (since I work on a college campus).  I weigh the same or less than before I had Will, but nothing is in the same place, and it is kind of depressing.

No one would consider me blonde, at least I didn't think so.  I've always had dark hair.  My sister was the blonde one.  I never wanted to be blonde, but when I was younger I dyed my hair red several times because I really liked Anne of Green Gables.

The other day I was walking across campus with a friend/coworker, and I was complaining about my hair, which at this moment in time is reminiscent of what Gilda Radner would have looked like if she'd ever stuck her finger in a light socket.

Anyway, I made some reference to my hair being brown, and my friend/coworker did a double take.  "I wouldn't say you have brown hair," she said.  "Maybe it's more of a dark blonde."

Me, blonde?

To be fair, the ends of my hair are a completely different color than the roots, and not because I've done anything to it.  They've just gotten bleached out over time and hundreds of miles running in the sun since my last haircut.

But still, it was quite unexpected that someone might ever think of me as blonde.  I can see myself, someday, elderly and perhaps sitting in a rocking chair, telling William of a time long ago when I was blonde and scrawny.  And I can see him reacting with the same kind of incredulity we always did when Grandma made those claims.