"Stick thin."
"Rather large on top."
"Perfect singer."
"Probably a good dancer."
My thirteen-year old daughter's thoughts on the Miss USA competition.
"And they wonder why we have issues."
Her words, not mine.
"I would like to see one dress that is straight across."
Referring to the plunging necklines.
"She looks orange."
Spray tans.
"I hope she knows she would look a lot better if she sat straight up."
Slouchiness at the piano.
"I really don't like that dress. Looks like a rainbow puked on her."
Complete with sound effects.
"Walking chicken legs."
"I could be a dancer."
"That looks painful."
"Her hair looks perfect all the time."
My girl. Beautiful. Tall. Healthy. Dancing through the living room as I type.
So much potential. So many choices. So many things confusing the way she thinks.
"Can I mute it?"
"Have you ever seen that movie Fame?"
"I hope she knows the sleeves make her arms look kinda squirrel-wingish."
"I wanna see somebody on roller skates."
"I think people worry too much about their weight, Mom."
Well said, Daughter. Well said.
Although I'm still trying to figure out if squirrel-wingish is an actual word.
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