sweet juniper!

When my wife gets home from work, I see the basement suddenly with her eyes. It looks the third story of a tiny Hong Kong alleyway, with crisscrossing clotheslines filled with drying clothes.

"I don't need to guess what you guys did today."

"We tie-dyed, mama!" the kid says from somewhere inside the rows of color-streaked clothing.

It looks like we were the official laundry of the Annual Willie Nelson Family Picnic. It looks like Kate Hudson donated to us all the shirts she'd been given by that ex-husband from the Black Crowes.

"We're not going to Burning Man, are we?" My wife asks with genuine fear, looking at my hands. From the wrist down I am a smurf.

I suppose we did get a little carried away. When the kid realized she could turn even more of her wardrobe pink, we completely eliminated the color white from her closet. We even tie-dyed some of Wood's white t-shirts. "I'm sorry," I tell her.

"It's okay," she says. "But if I ever walk in on you listening to The Dave Matthews Band, I may have to divorce you."