Recently, Alice has taken a liking to a game she calls “Beauty Shop.” The game is simple: The Mama (or The Dada) sits perfectly still, The Kidling yanks a comb through my (or his) hair for
ever several minutes, and expects me (or him) not to cry real tears of pain.
Sometimes, barrettes are involved. Other times, it is just scalp torture.
The game ends when Alice declares her work a success, using some positive adjective related to our physical appearance. Beautiful… Lovely… Gorgeous…
Alice was doing my hair for a pretend wedding one fine December day when she began to speak in anticipation of the fruits of her labor:
“You’re going to look beautiful! You look like a red booby! You look like a brown booby! You look like a blue-footed booby!”
The resemblance, dear readers, is uncanny.