I got my hair cut and highlighted yesterday. I, as I’m apt to do, made it a much bigger deal than just a haircut because I was faced with the huge obviously life-altering decision of whether or not to cut the blunt bangs again or to allow them to grow a bit going into the sweaty, sweaty summer. In a very WWZDD moment, I panicked, of course and then spent the time leading up to my haircut on a desperate hunt for my favorite tweezerman tweezers. Only people with blunt bangs will understand this—eyebrows? I have eyebrows? Really?

I opted to grow them a bit which basically means that if you see me in real life over the next month—and not hiding beneath my favorite instagram filters—and I look a little sheepdog-esque, don’t judge and attempt to keep your cackling on the inside.

Honestly, though, there was a point to this story, but since I’m a wordy, wordy beast, you got a preamble and a giant picture of my face. Aren’t you glad you stopped by today?

As I sat in my chair waiting for my tresses to artificially turn the color of my daughter’s natural hair color (unfair, I say!) I noticed a small boy sitting, bored-to-tears, to my right. He was obviously having a mental health day of sorts—since his bag full of snack and treats ruled out a stomach bug—and his mother dragged the sicknotsick child with her to her hair appointment. Her roots were on a schedule, people.

I checked my emails and then opened up Candy Crush. Ah…a blissful, uninterrupted 20 to 30 minutes of pure candy crushing magic.

“What level are you on?”

“I’m a little embarrassed to say. I’m kind of an addict.”

“I’m on 128.”

“Oh, I’m, *gulp* on 215. It’s a really hard one too. All sorts of crazy combination that you need to make. I mean…two sprinkle balls right next to each other? Unfair, I say!”

He laughed. I said balls.

So, a conversation about candy crush and balls with a small child.

He thinks I am also a small child.

My children all swim on the same morning. It’s takes a wee bit of juggling and work on my part, but there’s a lovely 30-minute overlap where all three children are in the pool and I’m on my own to do as I please within the confines of the viewing gallery.

(Candy crush, anyone?)

There was a little girl sitting a few seats away from me.

She smiled at me.

I smiled at her.

She smiled back at me.

And then.

“Are you here all alone? WHERE IS YOUR MUMMY?”

She thinks I am also a small child.

You know, I’d prefer if people mistook my almost-35 to be more like almost-25 and not, you know, almost-14.

But I’ll take it.

Once again.

And perhaps I should keep the bangs a little longer. They are obviously working for me.