I was standing behind my youngest daughter, brush in hand, working my way through the big snarl that often forms in her hair overnight. I don’t know how she does it, but it’s always in the same place, in varying degrees of twisted and intertwined mats. To take her mind off of my tugging and the pain I was obviously causing, I began a “when Mama was young”-type story.
“You know, I used to spend hours untangling knots just like this from my horse’s tail when I was about your age. We used to call them fairy knots and imagine mischievous pixies dancing on the horses backs and weaving the strands in and out, just to give us extra work.” I thought she would like the image of those trouble-making imps taking the horse’s tail and messing it all up. Instead, she went a whole different direction with it.
“Does that mean you think my head looks like a horse’s behind?” she asked, with a gleam in her eye.
Some things just don’t come out the way you intend them, especially when you have a smarty pants for a kid. I lifted one eyebrow in her direction and let the words “If the shoe fits, deary…” roll around in my head. Wonder where she gets it from?