Two days ago, the little tow-headed, ringlety haired boy who lives across the street asked my five year old if she would be his girlfriend. His name is Max. After being asked, the yellow-haired child ran inside to confer with her mother: "What should I say?"
"Tell him, 'Not until I'm 16.' "
Which she did. Apparently he was quite amenable and said they'd just be friends until then.
Is this my future with three girls - the tendrils of which even now begin to wind their way so gingerly about my neck?
Boys - one more reason to homeschool. Neighborhood Boys - one more reason to own a Louisville Slugger and to chew Skoal: "You wanna what, boy?" Ptoo. Of course, where I live, spectacles, a pipe, and a thick Victorian novel might better do the trick.