Hair

It used to be a joke between the two of us.

I would find a long brown hair on his shoulder or tangled in his beard. In a shocked voice I would ask, "Who's hair is this and how did it get here?!?"

He would look at me with those eyes that say, "Woman, you're crazy. And I'm crazy about you!"

Then he would chased me around the house, wrap me in his arms and remind me how that hair got there.

Now I don't just find long brown hair. Sometimes it's brown and curly. Or short and blond.

I pick the hair out of his beard or off of his shoulder and ask in a surprised tone, "Who's hair is this and how did it get here?!?"

He looks up at me over two heads.

One full of unruly, brown curls.



The other covered in disheveled, short blond locks.




His eyes say, "Woman, you're crazy. And I am crazy about you!"

And he mentions that when he gets a free minute from those other two he'd like to chase me around the house, wrap me in his arms and remind me how they got here.