My seven year-old daughter is seriously dedicated to the idea of girls with long hair. I'm not sure where this idea of feminine beauty is coming from (my hair is short . . . hmmmmm, food for thought), but I'm over it. Her hair is incredibly fine and snarls and tangles if you look at it funny. Plus, the end-of-day bedragglement . . . OY. I've bribed her to get a fall haircut by promising she can have her toenails painted any color she chooses. Although I expected to wait until she was at least fifteen before going on a mother-daughter salon date, we'll both be getting our toenails painted Thursday evening at Salon Visage on Market Square. I am 99.99% sure she will choose a garish, glittery, hot HOT pink. I may just save time and ask the nail tech for it up front, "May we please see your absolute worst possible pink?"
Yes, the toenail bill will be ludicrous, and I know she's just seven, but if you had to suffer through the pitiful complaints and animal-like moaning involved with brushing her fine brown shoulder-length hair every single morning, believe me, THERE WOULD BE NO COST YOU WOULDN'T PAY.