I came downstairs first thing this morning and found Theo cuddled up on the couch, watching an episode of Phineas and Ferb.
“Buddy,” I said to him. “You wouldn’t believe the dream I had last night! I dreamed I dyed my hair fuschia!”
He looked at me, blinked a couple of times, scrunched his eyebrows in thought as if trying to decide how to break it to me, then just blurted it out.
“Mom! You DID dye your hair fuschia! Go look in the mirror!”
I opened my eyes wide in complete and total mock surprise, then ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!” I screeched. “It wasn’t just a dream! My hair really is fuschia!”
I’ve never woke up in Las Vegas to find that I’d married a complete stranger. Nor have I ever woke up to discover that I’d had a few too many and ended up at a tattoo parlor.
But this morning, yes indeedy, I did wake up to discover that I did paint my hair fuschia yesterday. And this — this while I was not under the influence of anything.
Well, maybe a little something. I think my Crazy French Neighbor, Alice, would call it “Joie de vivre.”
Those French people. I think they’re on to something.
Copyright 2011, Amy Rauch Neilson