The Girl’s room, here at my new place, was looking a little bare.
I’m all ABOUT temporary fixes, so off we went, poster-shopping.
She thumbed through the Justin Biebers, ultimately leaving them there. The princesses didn’t do it for her, either.
And then, she spotted it:
Kittens and fairy wings and just enough pink and oh my god, she had to had to had to have it.
For the first few nights, she’d point out her favorite ones.
For the next few nights, she just sort of glanced at it, before rolling over and snuggling in for the night.
And then, one day, I find her standing in front of it, hand on one hip, and unmistakable sneer of disdain on her cherubic face.
She turns to me.
And she says, in the same tone of voice I’ve used to refer to mixed drinks and tight pants and boys and blue eyeshadow and crimped hair and boys and a variable rate mortgage:
“What was I thinking?”