"Yeah, probably," I said. "Well, except for my tail . . ." When I first met Alex, I had this:
Not the best photo quality ever, but I think you get the idea. This little beauty swept down past my shoulders. I cut it off a few weeks before we were married and never looked back, and being the wonderful man that he is, Alex never said a thing about it until we'd been married well over a year: "I'm glad you decided to cut it."
I was (and occasionally still am), of course, ruthlessly teased about it by my brother-in-law, Mike. The first thing he said when Graham was born was, "Does he have a rat tail?"
No Mike, Graham has never sported the tail. The bald ring, the fuzz ball, but never the tail. But Emma on the other hand, was born with this:
Though hers is probably cuter than mine ever was. Or my dad's. Yeah, my dad had the true rat tail in the 80s. (Don't tell him I told.) The little braid and everything! (Sorry no picture of that one, but trust me, it was pretty sweet.) I guess it just runs in the family. Emma should feel proud.
Now I am a mom and my hair spends most of its time in a ponytail. And after many years and dozens of hairstyles, I've finally figured out that you don't have to look like you stand out to really stand out. Hopefully it won't take Emma that long to figure that one out.
P.S. My dad now has very respectable hair.
