|Now THIS was a twirly dress.|
I now have some insight into how my Mom must have felt for all those years I refused to wear pants. I was a dress girl, the pouffier, the twirlier, the better, and now I have a dress girl. More specifically, a twirly dress girl.
For the past four mornings Eloise and I have argued as I plead with her to work with me on getting dressed. She gets all huffy as she demands a twirly dress, definition still slightly unknown, and as it happens we currently do not have enough of this particular dress style to get us through the week. Pants are no longer an option, skirts aren't either, and I can forget about suggesting a jumper. No, at the moment, Eloise must wear a dress with some twirl.
At my wits end a few days ago I called my Mom to ask for her guidance. "How on Earth did you deal with me when I was like this, Mom? This is ridiculous!"
"Have you tried a tutu underneath? You wore a crinoline under everything for years." she remarked.
"Yes, and she won't have any of it. I'm starting to lose it, we were supposed to be out of the house an hour ago."
She laughed. "Sorry, I'm not laughing because it's funny, I'm laughing because this is exactly what I went through with you."
Ah, history repeats itself. Or is this just called payback?