Don't. Call. Me. Blond.

If you meet the Daughter on the street, or say, in a cafe or at the gym you will not know she is my daughter.

Note: The picture to the right is definitely not the Daughter.

Additional Note: The chances of meeting the Daughter in any of these settings is unlikely, indeed, unless one frequents the frigid streets of Fargo, North Dakota, in which case, why are you wandering around town in this weather?

Genetically, we share the same brain, but that is all.

Note: Yes, Daughter has the custody of the brain more often than I do, sadly.

My eyes are green; Daught's eyes are brown. While my bum is a teeny bit on the flat side, Daught's is round and perky. My skin has a somewhat greenish-olive glow; Daught's skin is pearly white. My feet are dainty; Daught's are not-so-much.

But now, through the miracle of modern science, we have revised our DNA and now share a genetic trait: We are both blonde! Well, flaxen-haired with ribbons of caramel, but you get the idea.

Note: It has come to my attention that some people are blond and others are blonde. Why is that?

Additional Note: Of course I know why. I googled it:

The words blond and blonde come from the French and follow somewhat the French pattern. Blond (without the e) is used to describe males, mixed gender, or uncertain gender. Blonde refers to women or female gender.

Hold up. Mixed gender? Uncertain gender?

Sweet Holy Moses.

Whoever said Blonds have more fun is creeping me out, just a little.

Get it right: Blondes have more fun.

Just ask Daught!

Heck, yes!