Today Em got one of those “happenin'” new feathers in her hair. I admired it–properly, I think–and then she began playing with my hair.
“Mom, you should get a feather.”
“Nah, I’m too old to have a feather standing out in my hair.”
“Come on,” she wheedled. “You could get one that matches the color of your hair.”
“Then what’s the point?”
She played with a strand right on top of my head. “Yeah, you could get a gray one, put it right here.”
Dave hooted, and I tried to swat her, but she jumped away, protesting. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant because gray is your favorite color!”