I was reading Glamour today (Because I do that sometimes. Argh. Stop. Laughing.) and it said that 'wild, uncontrolled curly blonde hair' is all the rage. You see, It happens sometimes. When the Big Fashion Gurus Upstairs suddenly decide that, for people like me, there is hope. That perhaps for one fleeting season hair like we are burdened with for eternity is the envy of everyone.

It happened in the 80's, you know. Perms. Incredibly popular. When my head of hair was sought after like Jennifer Anniston's shag. And now, now it seems to be coming back. Miracles can happen.

Anyway, after my Touched By a Hair Angel soliloquey there, I was going to press on the subject of me and the possibility of my New Puppy.

My lovely mother was in a pet shop today where she saw a darling German Shepherd puppy, four months old, purebred with papers, who was practically being abused in a tiny cage and was sick and malnourished. Beautiful creature, she said, if fed and played with a bit. The poor little thing! The pet shop owner said it had been there for two weeks already. We're off to see the little bit tomorrow and discover if we like it or not.

My whole life I've been dreaming of getting a dog, what's more a male German Shepherd to name Charlie (From All Dog's Go to Heaven, my favorite children's movie). This one is, however, female, which brings up the horrendous affair of choosing a name. My mother, one must realize, is infatuated with the silliest names imaginable. Bo-Bo, Foo-Foo, We-Wa, any hyphened name you can think of, she's named an animal by it. I prefer more stately names. Alexandra. Elizabeth. Claire. To that effect.

We, however, have come to a compromise.

To name the dog after a fabric.

Silk. Satin. Velvet. I was pulling for Satine from Moulin Rouge, but one cannot have everything.