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[Mad as the] Dickens
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was summer. It was winter. It was bright and cheery. It was gray and dreary. It was the reason for countless struggles. It was the reason for unbridled joy.
One was long-sleeved and adorned with festive penguins.
One was short-sleeved and adorned with glitter.
In spite of a closet full of dresses, outfits, sparkly pants and Tinkerbell shirts, these were the only two acceptable options for wear. The possessor of these treasures had handpicked them from her collection and nothing else could compare to their splendor.
Maternal nerves frayed. Headaches originated. Tantrums commenced. Shoes were thrown. Little legs froze in sub-freezing weather.
All for the sole purpose of fashion.
Fashion as determined and defined by a three-year-old.
And so the other clothes all hung, untouched, in the closet and longed to be touched, worn, CHOSEN.
All at the expense of two dresses.
THE dresses.
In her eyes...
...perfection.
