I love my daughter. I really do. But why does she have to be such a strong influence on my boys. Why, oh, why? Why is it that they so envy her and her friend for getting to dress up in all of Lori’s old ballet outfits?
Before half of you comment on how it didn’t scar me to be tortured as a child by my own sister, mother and grandmother, let me tell you that it is no consolation. It is just painful to watch them both stroll in here dressed up as… Even the words are hard to type. They look like a miniature cabaret act. But even more painful is to watch the look on their faces when they are told not to do it or to take it off. Even attempting to convince them to dress up as a fireman or a superhero solicits a response as though I had kicked them in the behind.
And no, you don’t get pictures. I just had to pout a little. You can all poke fun now.