It's FASHION WEEK on the pay-to-view cable station here. (We usually channelsurf for a bit, after dinner and before bedtime.) They try to lure you in with programs like FashionTV, get you hooked and then after twenty minutes there's a sudden break in the programming and you have to start paying. After about ten minutes of commercials about how great these sort of programs are, the whole cycle starts up again.

Mirthe LOVES FashionTV. She remembers everything, every single pair of high heels, every glitterbra, every wedding dress. She tells me what she likes, and dislikes. She doesn't see how dangerously underfed those girls are, or how ridiculously overpriced the clothes are. She sees the beauty of silk and color and motion.

In the commercial break she makes up her own little outfits, and does the runway walk from the kitchen to the living room. It's amazing how close she can imitate it, that walk. She's four, going on 24.

After her daily dose of FashionTV we go up to bed, and fortunately she can still appreciate a good pair of cotton pajamas, pink with roses. She dives into bed and stretches soooooooooooooooooooooo -- "Ah lekker, slapen!" ("Mmmm, time to sleep!")