While sorting through a particularly choice parcel of hand-me-downs, Chevi chanced upon a stripy, ruffled tunic that really turned her head. She dashed into her room and emerged looking every bit the 5-year-old Bond girl. "It's a dress, Mommy,"she insisted, citing the fact that the hem entirely obscured her skivvies. She was adamant in her refusal to accept the very notion of tunic-dom, putting in a number of scantily-clad appearances at the breakfast table before the offending garment was consigned to the Pisa-esque mending pile alongside the sewing table.
While digging through another (yet equally voluminous) pile last night, I unearthed a black and white striped men's t-shirt that cried out to become yin to the tunic's yang. Dropping the project then at hand, (oooh! Shiny!) I hacked into both items and ended up with this little number, which pleased both my delicate sensibilities and hers. Naturally, we needed a matching hair doo-dad, with a little bit of bling for good measure.
While digging through another (yet equally voluminous) pile last night, I unearthed a black and white striped men's t-shirt that cried out to become yin to the tunic's yang. Dropping the project then at hand, (oooh! Shiny!) I hacked into both items and ended up with this little number, which pleased both my delicate sensibilities and hers. Naturally, we needed a matching hair doo-dad, with a little bit of bling for good measure.
Very cute Wendy! and the fact that you could satisfy both you and her...well....I'd say you won the battle:D
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