This evening when I got home, Noah said, "Your hair looks cute," a compliment that I perceived as a gateway to discuss of how he never notices anything about me, particularly subtle yet important changes to my hair. Very deftly did I change the course of this compliment, with a swift and punishing gust of hot air that caused it to miss the target of Your Husband Loves You Just as You Are and land in the center of I Don't Believe That Because of My Own Insecurities. It's not you, babe. It's me.
It all started last night, when this showed up on our doorstep, via Jen:
I realize these photos might not provide a whole lot of clarification, because a 10-day-old kitten bears a striking resemblance to...not a whole lot, actually. So if you haven't seen one before, you could just as easily think you've stumbled on a baby Ewok (if you believe in that kind of thing). (Which, deep down, I do).
So, while Jen (who found this little tyke abandoned in a field next to her house) ran to Walmart to buy the necessary provisions (namely, KITTEN formula and a teeny tiny bottle), Noah and I babysat. If you're wondering what a kitten this small sounds like, here you go:
All this is to say that I offered to take care of the kitten today and help find a foster home for it, so Jen brought him/her over this morning at 7:30 just after I washed my hair, and so I was feeding it while my hair was drying too fast in the towel and Ethan was happy and wanted to pet it and the moral of this ramble is MY HAIR ENDED UP LOOKING STUPID because I didn't have time to re-wet it before drying it. The bangs...I can't even talk about it. Disaster.
When I got home, I clipped back my bangs, which improved things. And Noah, very kindly, told me my hair looked cute.