"You say love my hair," she said, "but you don’t do anything with it."
She was right. I loved long hair. It’s a woman’s glory. She had soft silky black hair and I had taken it for granted. I liked looking at it. I liked knowing it belonged to me. I felt proud of it. But I had done nothing with it. I had taken it for granted. I had gotten lost in all her other splendors.
I reached out and started running my fingers through her hair.
She looked up at me, all soft and trusting and wanting to be stroked.
"Daddy’s home," I purred.
