My son has visited my room plenty in his nearly three years (being across the hall from his room and all). But just this week he pointed up to the framed print hanging above my bed and, with a huge smile on his face, shouted “Mama”. At first I thought he was just trying to get my attention. But when I realized what he was getting at I responded with a very confused “umm, no darling, that’s a painting by Matisse…that happens to be in mama’s room”. But he grew even more insistent…that the painting Jazz Icarus, by Matisse, somehow resembles mommy. Couldn’t he have made this pronouncement of another Matisse reproduction, also in my room, like one of the blue nudes? Oh well. But this isn’t the first case of mistaken identity he’s made recently. A couple of weeks ago I blazed through Bruce Campbell’s absolutely fabulous autobiography. Each time my son saw the cover he pointed to Bruce’s glossy countenance and shouted the name of, well, a certain someone…who is most certainly not Bruce Campbell. I insisted that no, mommy is not dating Bruce Campbell (well, maybe in a parallel universe or something…sigh). But the little bugger is persistent. He firmly believes that a certain someone must be leading a dual life as a B movie actor. If only. I mean, uh, yeah. Never mind.