At Strawberried Points

There are times in one’s life when one forgets one’s hair was recently and only just partially “washed” by one’s four-year-old—which four-year-old had casually improvised her ad hoc and irreproducible in-tub shampooing mixture from a cunning goulash of post-wash bath water, strawberry kid shampoo, and theoretically bath-friendly crayons.

One may even—in the rashly Pickett-like charge toward an overdue bedtime—forget to rinse such preparations (even hastily) out of one’s partially “washed” hair.

And, although—yes, obviously—one does presently surmise the likely assailant behind one’s sudden follicular stalagmite dilemma, it offers naught to ameliorate one’s initial shock at one’s condition or appearance.

One finds oneself strawberrily pointy.

Which, honestly? One actually kinda likes.

So, go figure. Maybe one’s a weird one.

One knows surprises are gifts, and strawberry points won’t last forever.