Dude Looks Like a Lady

Yesterday was Christmas in July on our kitchen floor. Mr. and Mrs. Claus, masquerading as Grandma Lainey and Grandpa Nudge, dropped by with a jumbo-sized black trash bag stuffed to the gills with old princess gowns from our friend Jennie's granddaughter. Lil' Miss was awestruck. Dumbstruck. Movestruck. She just sat there. The phrase "She didn't know what to do with herself" comes to mind. Nearly drowning in the foofy mounds of pastel taffeta and chiffon, I could see she needed a moment in the coach's corner, "Breathe, honey. Breeeeeathe."

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day playing wardrobe assistant. Putting on the blue Cinderella gown with matching clutch bag. Now taking it off. Now the chartreuse Tinkerbell ballet suit with biddy wings. Now taking it off. Now the Snow White dress with white cape that is not quite making it over her head. Now taking it off (but not without first bracing my hand against her skull for leverage against said cape). Replacing with pink Aurora dress and crown, and so on, and so forth... All of it exhausting, but too precious and short-lived in the whole scheme of life to really complain about.

Little did we know that the Mary Poppins bag-of-neverending-princess-costumes had one final gift to bestow. One costume, nearly overlooked and discarded down at the bottom of the bag, was discovered by Lil' Miss early this morning. Not even remotely princessish, this prize find ended up providing more entertainment than any of those frilly frocks ever could. Lil' Miss decided that this little doosey was definitely going to be worn, but not by just anyone. It could only be worn by one, THE one, worthy of all its splendor. I couldn't have agreed more. I grabbed the garb and scooped him into my lap. I was prepared to do whatever it took to wrestle him into this thing, but wiggle and squirm, he did not. He wanted to wear it, knew he was MEANT to wear it. From the candycane-stripped knee high socks all the way up to the red-haired night cap, he sat perfectly still, a willing participant. A good man knows when destiny is staring him straight in the knickers.

Funny how the word "destiny" never came up in my husband's emailed response when I sent him this picture. I do vaguely remember him saying something like, "if he... crossdresser... blame you..." Oh well. It was hours ago, so it's all a bit fuzzy to me now.