let's make a pact not to talk about my hair, ok?

A few days ago I noticed my son Will, squinting at my hair in the kitchen.
"It's back, " he said.
"What's back?"
"That gray part in the front."
"Keep your comments to yourself."
Over the last few years I have taken to dying my hair by myself.
And I do a so so job.
Not great. But not orange. (Is that a comparison? I think it is.)
To my great displeasure the gray in my hair mostly keeps to a shock of hair near
my part at my bang line.
Like Cruella De Ville.
So I can't really let the months of upkeep get too far out
or I have to start wearing fur and chasing dalmatians.
Jack chimed in on the conversation.
"It's not so much gray, Mom, it's more silver. Silver is good, like money."
He was trying, at least.
Addie studied me for a second and said, "Nope. It's not silver. It's white."
And now all the children have no allowance for the month.
They are going to have learn the hard way.
If you can't say something nice, than don't say anything at all.