I blame Uncle Walt

Last night was Eric's night to get Maggie ready for bed. He bathed her, washed and dried her hair. Usually her favorite thing to do after bath is "dry off" by running naked through the house squealing like a miniature and somewhat giggly banshee. But last night after getting her hair dried she came to the stairs and descended slowly, speaking to me in quiet, soft, and intentionally sticky-sweet tones. Then she explained, in the same tones, "I'm talking like this because my hair is so beautiful."
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On a possibly related note, most every day after I pick her up from school now, she tells me she "loves" B., one of the boys in her class (and the largest by a head.)