Last night, we attended an annual holiday party in the true spirit of Christmas–to celebrate bubbles and reindeer sweaters.
In pure Festivus style, Ellie found a red satin ribbon from around the house and asked if she could tie it in her hair for the party.
A) Was anyone else claiming the ribbon as their own? No.
B) Was I going to be required to iron, straighten or tie it? No.
C) Would this ribbon cost me any money or make us late? No.
The ribbon is all yours Ellie.
And the ribbon really made the outfit. A sweet, wholesome, little girl dressed up for a party.
When we arrived at our gathering, someone mentioned the pretty bow in Ellie’s hair and smiled at me.
Best. Mom. Ever.
Someone else said, “I love Ellie’s bow.”
We. Are. The. Cat’s. Ass.
As the evening went on, another parent was admiring Ellie’s creative hairstyle and seemed to be taking great interest in the bold embroidery across the tip of her bow.
She giggled, then looked at me, then held up the ribbon that clearly read, “Woodbridge by Robert Mondavi.”
I guess I should have asked, D) Did you find the ribbon on a wine bottle, Ellie?”