My Daughter, the Diva

My daughter is a diva.

She is a girly girl.

She loves pink.

And dolls.

If you don’t know me, you might think this is normal and nothing extraordinary.

Let me put it to you this way—I had the biggest Hot Wheel collection on the block growing up.

I have a bigger tool box than my husband.

I drag race.

I’ve been working on cars for years.

I am not a girly-girl.

I have no clue what to do with this creature.

She wants her toes painted. She wants to wear frilly dresses. She wants to go shopping.

If I wouldn’t have seen them take her out of my belly… I’d say she got switched at birth.

Of course, she looks like a younger version of me, so there is no question about it.

I guess it’s true that genetics do not play a role in personality.

If they did, I would be playing Hot Wheels and not painting toe nails.

I’m learning though.

Granted, I tend to pick my toe nail polish based on car colors.

Guess you can’t change a tom-boy… just clean ’em up some.

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