She has an old soul. I swear she does. She did not want to get a dress. She wanted to wear mine. She wanted to wear my wreath. It was 30 years old + she didn’t care. She wanted to be just like me + it made me proud. I imagined myself getting her a dress. It would be long. It would flow. Subtle hippieness you could call it. Is that even a word? But she said no. She wanted to be just like me. It make me happy.