Kirsten is a 18-inch tall girl from Sweden who grew up on the American frontier. Her hair was all tangled, so I decided to fix it. But first, I had to take a picture of the back of her head. (The camera objected and put in an imaginary yellow spot.)

"Why did you take a picture of the back of my head?" Kirsten asked.

"Just in case you're lost and they find you in the street, then I'll have a way to identify you," I said hastily.

"So it has nothing at all to do with the resale market?" Kirsten asked.

And we shared a very awkward silence.

Finally, Kirsten added, "At least get a picture that doesn't have a yellow spot on it. I KNOW I don't have a big yellow spot on the back of my head. What's wrong with your camera, anyway?"

"For a girl from 1854, you sure know a lot about modern technology," I said.

And we shared another awkward silence.

Finally, I got out the spray bottle and the dog comb--

"DOG COMB?" Kirsten yelled.

But she turned out OK.

Once her hair was dry I ran the dog--er--Kirsten comb through again, and got her dressed up in her pretty spring dress. (It took long enough to comb through her hair, I vowed to NEVER unbraid it again.)

"Hey!" Kirsten yelled.

"Well, okay, maybe," I admitted. And I took her for a walk in the grass.

"This sure is a tiny batch of grass," Kirsten said. But there was enough for her to sit down in.

Her hair was already starting to look messy!

"But if you play too much, I can comb it again," I said.

And Kirsten was so pleased, she picked me some flowers.

"And if you REALLY need it, I'll give your hair a Downy wash!" I added.

Kirsten gave me a funny look, and she took the flowers away...

On to 3.27.06

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