Fuzzy wuzzy

I am a dark-haired woman. Sometimes, this surprises me; I used to get blonde highlights in my hair, which made it look a lot lighter overall, and I got used to thinking of my hair as light brown. Until a blonde coworker and I were discussing hair color, and she said, "Oh, when I was little I always wanted red hair. Or a nice dark brown, like yours." I started to say, "Oh, my hair isn't that dark," but then I looked at a strand of it and, well, it is indeed dark brown.

In grade school, I was teased frequently. For many reasons, but one that showed up frequently was something that my blonde coworker probably never had to worry about: girls with dark hair have very prominent leg hair. In my case, I was doubly blessed, with lots of dark hair on my arms as well. I did not like this at all, but eventually I got over it. (Very eventually. Like, ten years later.) Every once in a while, someone whose brain-to-mouth filter was out of order would say, "Hey, you have a lot of hair on your arms!" OH REALLY? I NEVER NOTICED. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME KNOW.

Don't worry, there is a point to this.

Our current rotation of bedtime books includes one featuring Elmo, that fuzzy little red guy from Sesame Street. It's called My Fuzzy Valentine, and the images of Elmo are covered in something velour-ish, so kids can touch fuzzy Elmo. Anyway, Elmo gets this mysterious valentine, trots up and down Sesame Street, and finally discovers that it's from his mommy...because she loves her fuzzy little Elmo! Feeling cheesily maternal, I concluded my rendition of the book with, "Just like Mommy loves her little Boy Wonder!"

Boy Wonder smiled, and said, "But I'm not fuzzy!"

Then he looked at my arm, patted it, and said, "But you are, Mommy."

Somehow, it's OK coming from him.