I have come to the conclusion lately that we are living with some hairy little beasties. No, no, no. The G house has not adopted any adorable dogs, cats, hamsters, etc. We do have a couple of beta fish, but they don’t have hair, and well, just never mind about that. I’m talking about my two daughters. At our house, the *only* possibility for girls to look attractive is to have long hair. This opinion comes straight from my daughters, not me. So no one ever, ever wants a haircut. That combined with the fact that I shed like a God damn golden retriever has me racing around like a maniac with my Swiffer. By the way, Swiffer, I love you. You do so much more than a broom ever could with hair and dust. (Yes, that was an unpaid plug there unless Swiffer decides to throw some love my way, which is vastly unlikely.)
Mr. G originated in India. As you can imagine, he’s a black haired man. His kids, accordingly, are half Indian. They also have lovely, thick, dark brown hair. It looks decidedly less lovely on the floor and the furniture. My hair on the other hand is blonde and doesn’t show up on anything but the black Guns and Roses tee shirts that I am overly fond of wearing. So the only person that is really bothered by my hair is me when it makes its way down the back or onto the arms of one of my shirts. God I hate that phantom hair that you feel but can’t find when you get so irritated you stop whatever you’re doing to find it and throw it away. I never imagined that I’d spend so much time cleaning up hair after so many people. Perhaps it’s because I never counted on having two daughters (I couldn’t tell you why I thought that). I just never imagined that I would find SO much hair around our house. Especially now that my older daughter is brushing her own hair. Ah well, back to the swiffer!