Fable has her father's hair. When Archer was a baby he did, too.
I always figured Archer's boyish manliness was why he was never once referred to as a "cute baby girl." Always a boy was he. But now I know. There was nothing manly about his infancy. He was just bald and therefor assumed to be a dude. Because girls are supposed to be born with full heads of hair apparently. And by the time they're one-year-old they're required by social law to have long flowing locks.
And when they aren't? Hairclub for babies is born. And/or infant ear-piercing.
(although not on this particular day.)
Anyway, the other day, whilst pushing Fable down the boulevard, en route to Latte-ville, a kind-looking and apparently-blind person bent over and waved her hand in Fable's face.
"How cute is he! Weaing his sister's barrettes? Aw. My son used to LOVE wearing his sister's clothes! It's so sweet!"
Now I will explain to you exactly what Fable, "my darling son" was wearing. Not one. Not two. But ALL of the following items:
1. pink.2. purple3. rainbows4. flowers5. sparkles6. pink sparkles7. hearts8. a vagina9. floral barrettes10. a pink and purple blankie with floral rainbow sparkle heart vaginas on it.
Right? I mean...
She was literally wearing head-to-toe pink and purple frilly, floral femininity and this was the fourth, maybe even fifth time in less than two blocks someone assumed she was a boy.
Because of her hair? I guess?
The truth is? For the last year, 99% of people have been all "what's his name! I love his dress!"
Seriously, people. There's a fine line between being open-minded to cross-dressing infants and plain-old idiotic.
...So anyway - I was minding my business totally fine and ho-hum-whatever re: correcting people's disregard for the obvious when this chick comes up to us and compliments "my son's rainbow sparkle pink bow barrettes."
I mean seriously what the fuck.
"Really? You think I would put pink-glittered heart-barrettes in my son's hair?"
"Oh! I mean... I don't know."
"You think I would dress my son in purple flowered tights and a pink dress with little heart shoes and push him around the neighborhood? Order a soy latte at Starbucks? Pick up some dry shampoo at the Beauty Supply store? Meet a friend for lunch with my son and his rose petal sparkle hairclips and purple-hearted leg warmers?"
"Well... he? looks great in purple."
"Fuck you! She's a girl. A goddamn motherfucking girl."
Okay so I didn't say that. I'm far too nice. But that's totally what I meant when I said, "Thanks! Have a great day! Love your shoes!"
(She did have very nice shoes.)
(For someone who obviously had no clue.)
(This is why people pierce their daughters ears at birth, right?)
(Not that I would per se.)
(I just get it now.)
(How annoyed are you that I'm typing in parenthesis right now?)
(Good. Now you know how I feel every time I leave the house with my "son" who has a vagina and wears girl's clothes.)