I came home kinda late last night, like around 6:30 PM, to find both my daughters wearing princess costumes. This would probably be surprising to most people, but I didn’t bat an eye; my kids are always dressed up. I don’t know where they get this desire from, and I sure as hell don’t know where they get the costumes, but it’s not unusual for me to turn around and see, for example, Rapunzel begging for candy, Wonder Woman jumping on the couch, or the Little Mermaid shitting in her diaper.
By the way, whenever either of the girls are in the Wonder Woman costume, they–and their mom(!)–refer to her as “Superwoman”. I correct them every time, because dammit, that’s a part of my childhood. I’m not going to sit here, as a proud American, and have them desecrate the character my boyhood crush Lynda Carter made famous.
They’re not always wearing costumes; sometimes, it’s actual dresses that are so elaborate they look like costumes. Hell if I can tell the difference. Either way, they get downright insistent on wearing these things. As I was composing this blog, Norah came in here holding a dress you’d wear to a Christmas ball, gesturing for me to help her put it on. It was 6:45 AM, and she wanted to look like Cinderella. I told her no, which of course started a little snit.
I hope this kind of thing isn’t unhealthy; they’re always looking at themselves in the mirror in these things, like they really care about their appearance. When I was their age, I didn’t care one iota about what I was wearing. I’m not sure I knew what a mirror was. But hey, their mom was a fashion model with exquisite taste in clothing. Maybe it’s just hereditary.
As long as no one asks me to dress up, we’ll be fine.
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