This story lacks a narrative arc.

So, Middy: I did an unreasonable thing yesterday. I asked my stylist to make my hair white. Which is exactly what he did.

I can't say that my intention was to look natural. I was going for something extreme but toothsome. I thought about it for months beforehand. I had grown tired of the ashtray darkness my hair had been slouching into since my late twenties.

P.S. I woke up around 2 a.m. last night with pangs of remorse, in the same way I occasionally wake with thoughts of an/the/my eventual death: How would I be perceived in the office? What did this say about my personality to my co-workers? Would they feel bad for me? Why couldn't I be reasonable like everyone else? Why was I apologizing to the professional world from my pillow? I fell back asleep.