This weekend, The Mama got her hair done. Finally. I’ve been rocking the same look for nearly two years, and the time had come. Now, we’re not talking about a little trim here. No, this was a major change: bangs. And it looks damn good, if I do say so myself.
The Kidling was less than convinced. When she first saw me, she smiled in greeting before her face fell. “I liked you better without those,” she informed me.
“You’ll get used to them,” I replied. The look in her eyes told me that was not likely.
Later, I told The Kidling we looked alike now, since we both had fringe on our foreheads. Clearly I was reaching, but I thought–perhaps–making the fringe seem more familiar might lead to less animosity. Right?
We walked to a mirror and studied our reflections. A moment passed before I noticed, “You can see my gray hairs now!”
“That’s too bad,” The Kidling responded.
“Oh no,” I corrected, “I like them. They’re sparkly!”
The Kidling shook her head, “The older you get, the less you’ll like them.”
How does this chiłd know everything?