So, remember the story of george? He is now the world’s longest, skinniest, deaf-est cat ever. He’s actually sleeping in the above picture.
H is of an age, now, where I cannot take a pic of her without the requisite rabbit ears. Even if she’s giving them to a kitty. Or is that a peace sign? I really don’t know…she’s slowly turning into an alien tween. She yelled at me this morning for 1) waking her up too late to take a shower, 2) failing to wash her convertible tights, and 3) because her bangs would not lay down properly.
Wow. SHE yelled at ME. I stood there, flabbergasted, wondering how exactly to deal with this. I wanted to simultaneously apologize and kick her skinny fanny. Instead, I asked her why on earth she needed a shower BEFORE she spends an entire day dancing and sweating, why she couldn’t wear a different pair of tights, and then I paused. Of all the problems she had this morning, uncooperative bangs she could NOT BLAME ON ME.
Because I’d told her, when she asked if she could cut them last week, that she could, but that it wasn’t a good idea. And so I ended my retort to her, feeling quite smug:
“I TOLD YOU THAT BANGS ARE EVIL.”
Good Gravy 
Oh man, bangs are a pain! Good luck with the tween years.
Those three things she yelled at you about this morning? They’re the least of your upcoming worries!! Wait ’til…oh, never mind, it will all be different for you, I swear.
Great cat photo!!
And good luck with the tween years …
Kitty yoga! (And, like short hair, I beg to differ on the whole bangs thing. But then, I’m not a dancer. Or a runner.)
I suppose I should clarify: bangs are evil on the Frank hairline, which is the hairline that my mom, my sister, me and H all have. It is kind of high up on our foreheads and so traditional bangs make us look like hamsters.
And they’re evil when you have to wear your hair slicked back into a bun.