First, there were dresses, then, falling hair...

There is something enthralling about girls, something piquant and

captivating. I love their softness, their smells and their magic. I love

their long hair and the way their waists curve into their hips. I love

their elegance and seduction. This wonder consumes me until I realize

something essential. I love that about me, when I let myself remember

it.

As a small girl I have a favorite dress. She is the most glorious

creation I have ever seen and when I spin, my hair flies around me like

a cape, my skirt a whirlpool of color. I look forward to every morning

when I can slide out of bed and put her on. She is my best friend and

my most prized possession. She is Dressica.

My other best friend understands this completely. She has long hair

like me, and we pass the days in our beautiful dresses, singing Annie

from the landing on my stairs.

We are big stars gracing our fans with the glories of our angelic voices.

It is always the best when we have our favorite dresses on and our hair

hanging like satin sheets from our heads. Then we are queens of the

universe and everyone lives to kiss us and bring us gifts of chocolate

cake and jelly-beans.

I love my hair as much as I love Dressica. It is such a wonderfully

long, red, wave. I imagine I am a mermaid in the bathtub, swishing my

head from side to side underwater, so it floats like a sea foam cloud.

This is the perfect life and I will it to go on forever.

I loose the queenship of beautiful girlness after chemotherapy

banishes my hair and makes me too tired to care about dresses.59

Nora discovers that her grandmother Jocelyn is a witch the