I got my hair cut last week for the first time in probably almost a year. It had reached the point where drastic measures seemed necessary, so I asked Mario, my hair guy of 10 years, to give me bangs. My cousin Trish, currently residing in Kuwait and still waiting for the package I mailed almost five months ago, recently got her hair cut into bangs, and since SHE had bangs, I decided I had to have them too. (I think it all dates back to when we were 8 and SHE had a BeDazzler and I did NOT have a BeDazzler. If you can even believe that! Such TRAUMA inflected upon my young self.) Mario flat-out said no, we are not doing that, because you have a short forehead and a whorl at the front of your hair and you would constantly have 80s bangs. So I (still planning on taking the aforementioned drastic measures) asked him to give me a nice sleek bob. He said no, we are not doing that, because you don’t like to style your hair and bobs require a great deal of styling, so your hair will either look bad or you will hate it or both. So I said FINE, just cut off as much as you can without causing me to hate it, and he gave me a lovely cut that looks great and is not so long that Ellie yanks on it nor so short it requires much styling. (He once told me he thought it was great his mom had a long layover in Amsterdam because it meant she could go out and explore England, but the guy does know hair even if he doesn’t know basic geography.) However, I happened to be in Bath & Body Works last week and discovered a new product that promised to give me “beachy, windswept hair” and I have applied it faithfully every day since and NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON has asked me if I just came from the beach.

I believe I have mentioned before that Ellie is pretty fond of our cats. The feelings are reciprocated in somewhat varying amounts (Norton, our tuxedo, does not seem to want to have much to do with her in general, but Max, our fat orange cat, would probably have been the girl in high school who dated all the bad boys because he seems to think that even negative attention is still attention and is therefore a thing that he wants desperately, and he is quite happy to allow her to yank on his ears or grab clumps of his fur) but their lack of enthusiasm does not seem to deter her. Our living room is in that “great room” format that is open to the upstairs, and when you pause at the top of the stairs while carrying her, she will look down into the living room, see one or both of the cats, and shriek with excitement, as though she has never seen them before. She then gives you a surprised look, as if to say, “CATS! In the living room! TWO of them! WILD ANIMALS IN OUR HOUSE CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!” Yesterday on Sesame Street, there was an animated segment that showed black cats in silhouette, and she pointed to the TV and said “Kitty!” and I emailed Mike to tell him our daughter was a genius, because she could tell that those were cats even though they weren’t particularly cat-like, at least not in a way she would have seen before. Later on, we were at a Starbucks with my friend Andrea and her daughter, and Ellie started petting the fur trim of Andrea’s coat and saying “Kitty!” so I guess we should probably hold off on calling Mensa just yet.