The straight-haired girl is feeling a bit under the weather. Strangely enough, she keeps having the same dream I had when I was sick as a child. You know, the dream where things get smaller and smaller? The dream where the smaller everything gets, the larger it is? Only, it scares her.
Does anyone else have that dream?
Anyway, when she is sick and a wee bit scared, she wants comfort in the form of Mom's hand. (It's rare these days. I have to take advantage of it when I can.) We're lounging under a big comfy blanket and talking about life when she throws out this stunner: "I don't want to get married." As I dig deeper, she tells me she doesn't want to get married because she doesn't like fighting.
That's a pretty good reason; every marriage that I know of has its fair share of disharmony. Her dad and I don't argue often, but when we do it's not impossible to overhear.
I remind her that it's impossible for everyone to agree about everything, that she and her friends have been known to disagree. "I don't like to fight with my friends," she says, "I'm afraid I will lose them."
So I try to convey the possibility that someday she too may laugh and fight and live and cry with another human being; and she will still love him and be committed to him and not be afraid she will lose him. (Note to self: next time, exercise volume control so as not to worry the pipsqueaks!)