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
"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,
"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
"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,"
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
On to 3.27.06
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