Shelly was born with a full head of lovely brown hair. She was the prettiest baby in the nursery, and I’m not kidding.
That hair never fell out.
It grew out. Blond.
My dad couldn’t keep his camera off it. She was his Yellow Haired Grandaughter.
Sometimes said a little testily, as she also was the little No girl who went in the opposite direction of the general flow. He kept track of that hair, nevertheless.
Can you believe I was asked in the grocery store if I tipped the ends!
Around the age of three Shelly administered her own hair cut.
The professional salvage. Or, as Shelly says to me, "We can laugh about this now."