Warning: super long. Sorry. Mostly.
I grew up with a mom who loved to sew and loved to dress up her daughter, in equal measures. Yes, I'm sure you can imagine the dresses and matching hats and all that. Don't worry, I'll relieve your imaginative powers and let you have this:
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| Bonus cousin! He's taller than me now. He's three months younger. I resent it. |
Then, when I was in the third grade or so, I started growing out of these dresses (I mean this more metaphorically than physically, really). All I wanted was a pair of jeans. I started dressing a lot more tomboyishly around the fourth grade. Coincidentally (or not), this was when I moved out of the realm of Little Girl to Little Chubby Girl.
