GG and GB were on the bus yesterday. The first thing I noticed when I boarded was that GG had cut her hair! It was a little longer than shoulder length and now is is short - a little shorter than a Dorothy Hammill. It is cut up in the back but a little longer in the front. It is very cute. She had two little purple barettes securing it on her right side.
I took a photo and posted it here, which prompted a few early-rising friends to ask why I had changed my policy about posting photos of GG and GB when I had previously said I wouldn't. I defended myself by saying that you really couldn't see her face, but I decided that Holly and Dean were right and I took the photo down. It was too invasive.
It is not too invasive, however, to write about them.
So. GG had her short hair. She was sitting cross-legged in the aisle seat, as usual, chin in her hands. She was wearing a purple t-shirt to match the purple barettes. Two wood bead necklaces and one silver chain. A black miniskirt over black leggings. Fingerless purple lace gloves, undoubtedly an homage to Madonna, who is old enough to be this girl's grandmother.
Wait. Is she? Madonna is what, 53? And this girl is 17 - not 15, as I had thought. Yes - if Madonna had had a baby at 18 and that child had a baby at 18, this girl could be Madonna's granddaughter.
I bet Madonna shudders at the idea of being a grandmother.
I am a step-step grandmother, which is an odd state, because I don't feel old enough to be a grandmother but I AM old enough to be a grandmother. My best cousin, Angie, is nine days older than I am and she has two little grandchildren.
I have three step-step grandchildren, so by the calculus used by the indigenous women I worked with in Chile, I win.
That was always the first question any of these women asked me: How many children did I have?
These women were illiterate and lived on subsistence farms, but they always won because they had children and I did not. They felt very sorry for me indeed.
For the record, I have never cared about having children, but I am delighted to have step-step daughters and step-step grandchildren. It's all the good stuff with none of the hard part.
Where was I? Oh. Goth Boy got on the bus. Still unshaven. I wonder if he is growing a beard. It's a little late in the season for that.
He sat. They talked about their weekends. I guess they don't see each other on the weekend, although they could: they are both on the bus line. They could just take the bus to each other's house. Why don't they?
I didn't hear much of what they said because they don't talk while the bus is stopped, only when it's moving and noisy.
There was no shoulder bumping. No tickling. No hand grabbing. But neither was there tension.