"I'm cold. You go put on a sweater."
That's how it is here. I have a low tolerance for being chilly, and it even makes me cold to see dolls laying around with no clothes on. Why, then, is it that my daughters find it perfectly comfortable to run around in ballet leotards or sundresses or nothing but their skivvies? I'm flipping through the Lands' End catalogue dreaming of fleece slippers, and they're dancing around with bare arms and legs and toes. It makes me shiver just looking at them.
Part of the problem is that they're both such clothes horses. I dress them warmly, and half an hour later they've changed into dresses. Babs is a great believer in dressing for the occasion: she changes for lunch, for dinner, for bed, and once or twice in the afternoon just for kicks. She doesn't always pick appropriate outfits, but she has her own sense of style, and if I choose an outfit that offends, I hear all about it.
At least I haven't seen the girls in white shoes after Labor Day.
Worth a Thousand Words: The Big Trail
2 hours ago