Rosie ruffled the back of my hair, shook her head and met my eyes in the mirror.

“When are you going to do something about this gray hair,” she said. “Most people go gray in the front first, but your gray is all over the back of your head.”

“There can’t be that much gray hair back there,” I said.

“Are you kidding?” Rosie replied, handing me a mirror and turning me around in the beautician’s chair.

“Take a look.”

Luckily, I didn’t have my glasses on or I might’ve seen the back of my head that resembled the Swiss Alps in December.

But that gray hair is something I can’t see it, so, ipso facto, the problem doesn’t exist.

This tactic of denying something I can’t see has worked ever since I was a young girl. Most children think if they hide underneath the covers, the monster can’t see them, and they’ll be safe and sound.

I was no exception. But in addition to the monsters that lurked in the closet, I thought alligators lived underneath my bed.

They remained quiet and still during the day; but once my mom turned off the light, Alligator Central went into combat mode.

I truly believed if I dangled my hand or leg over the edge of the bed, those ravenous reptiles would chomp off an appendage.

It never occurred to me to actually take a look underneath the bed or open the closet door at night. I simply chose not to look and, thus, the monsters were kept at bay.

There’s a word for this type of behavior — avoidance — and I’ll admit it’s the coward’s way out.

But for a good bit of my life, pretending that’s what behind me, or what I can’t see, isn’t important, has worked.

Well, except for that afternoon I backed our Ford sedan into the house because I didn’t see how close the wall was to the back bumper.

And the night I backed into that light pole in the grocery store parking lot.

And the time I backed into that poor woman in the grocery store and practically broke her foot.

But other than those few occasions, avoidance works quite nicely for me.

For instance, gaining weight. When I look into the mirror, especially when it’s the mirror’s fogged in the morning and I’m not wearing my glasses, it doesn’t appear I’ve gained that much weight.

However, I caught a glimpse of myself in a plate glass window the other day, and my body resembled Africa, not an hourglass.

Clothes that no longer fit are in the back part of my closet where I don’t see them. Some fitness gurus would probably frown at that practice, believing I should keep those clothes front and center as a reminder to exercise and eat right.

But as long as those clothes are safely hiding in the back of the closet, behind my winter jacket and an old bridesmaid’s dress, I don’t think fret about never zipping those bell bottoms again.

The dust bunnies in my house follow my mantra. They love to hide underneath the couch, behind the TV and in the corners. And, since being out of sight and out of mind works, those bunnies enjoy a long, fruitful life in my living room.

When the bunnies in the corner and the alligators under the bed know how to keep out of the line of fire, then I’d say avoidance is a pretty good tactic.

Just don’t ever look behind you.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.