I will never forget the day the Preacher and I were in the obstetrician’s office and the sonographer announced the news, ‘It’s a Girl!’

‘That’s impossible. We don’t make girls”, I said. However, after seeing three boys on an ultrasound, it was utterly apparent this was no male child I was carrying.

We left that office and immediately began daydreaming about what she would be like. With three older brothers, we envisioned her wearing blue jeans, pushing Hot Wheels through the dirt, and spitting. Yes, our girl would be a tomboy because how could she possibly be anything but?

Fast-forward five years. Picture a pink bedroom with a pink fairy comforter. Open the closet and see clothing in every conceivable shade of , what else, pink hanging intermittently with various Disney Princess and Cheerleader costumes. Find every Barbie ever made, except for Tanner the Dog which I have just not been able to bring myself to buy. Yet.

The Preacher and I have got ourselves a Drama Princess. We are still uncertain where she came from and are not altogether convinced there wasn’t a switch at the hospital. How, oh how did we end up with a girl who sleeps with lip gloss? Where did we get a child who has already proclaimed she is ready to meet her Prince Charming and could we just go ahead and drop her off at his castle? When did it become possible in my testasterone-filled house for a 4-year old to prefer fashion accessories over a toy weapon?

With that said, I told ya’ll I let her buy a shirt at Target for $1.75 while we were on vacation. I was sooo proud I was getting out of buying her something extravagant for her ‘vacation prize’ and as I said, clothing is better to her than a toy any day. I should have splurged because that $1.75 shirt has cost me roughly $988 in therapy bills thus far.

Little Princess is pretty ticky about her couture. Things have to fit ‘right’ and ‘match’ and heaven forbid you try to take a shirt from one outfit and put it with pants from another. Oh no, ma’am. That is simply not done. I am pushing to buy this $1.75 shirt so I convinced her it was the same color blue as the rhinestone butterfly on a skirt she already had. After very thoughtful consideration, she agreed that yes, that sounded like it may work. I bought the shirt in XS thinking I had the perfect, cheap gift.

The Shirt has spaghetti straps which are adjustable with buttons. It also has a little jacket which fits over the whole deal. Princess decides she doesn’t like the jacket but the problem is, without the jacket, the shirt is a bit big around. It is nothing adjusting the straps can fix, it is strictly a circumference problem.

She decides if we put a paper clip on the straps it will tighten it enough so it will be ‘Right’ because her clothing, it has to be ‘Right’. We try the paperclip. Not Right. She then decides that we may be able to tie the straps around her neck. Her instructions? “Make it a whole lot of tight and a little loose.”

???What??? What in heaven’s name is a whole lot of tight and a little loose?? (Sounds like a bad joke with the punchline: A Baptist in a bar…hardy har)

Apparently, I still do not know because no amount of tightness or looseness was making things ‘right’. She whined and flopped and tugged at this shirt. She cried as she posed in front of the mirror to see just how she looked while she was doing it. SO – I made her take the shirt off which should have made her happy, but the wailing got even louder until I finally had to threaten to throw The Shirt off the balcony. When the screaming commenced, I popped her little fanny, put her in bed, and dared her to say the words ‘my new little shirt’ again.

As I was walking out of the bedroom I heard, in the tee-niniest voice, ‘I want my little shirt’. At this point, I can’t decide whether to throw myself off the balcony or The Shirt. I was seriously leaning on the former.

So I told ya’ll this to have you guess what just happened to get left at the condo? Accidentally on purpose? I’m thinking it will be a great gift for our friend’s granddaughter who we rented from.

So far, she has no idea…Say a prayer for both of us because one more mention of The Shirt and one of us is going down…..

And I’m afraid it is going to be me.

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