Once there was a girl with ravishing, red hair.
One morning the girl sat reading as her sister plaited her locks, adorning them with blossoms of Persian green.
It was nothing short of enchanting.
BUT the night before, these very same sisters came stomping downstairs, bursting with accusations defaming the character of the other.
It appeared that doll playing had gone terribly awry.
By the little sister's account, whenever she sang on behalf of her doll (who was a jazz singer), the elder sister said it was annoying.
To which the elder sister affirmed indeed it WAS annoying.
At which point the younger sister stared vindictively at her mother, as if this would be the perfect moment to reinstate the death penalty, preferably something Roman in nature.
The mother, to her credit, did not fly off the handle and declare a moratorium on the next ten years of fun, but rather tried to plead with the young ladies to consider a gentler approach to the matter.
To which the elder sister insisted the younger sister made everything IMPOSSIBLE and the younger sister vowed she would like to kick the elder in the stomach.
Such pretty manners!
No one could blame the mother for getting a bit shrill in that moment. After all, she only wanted to spend five uninterrupted seconds on the couch with her husband, franchement, if that wasn't too much to ask.
Where were those emergency swear vials, anyway? Wasted on a ruddy scorpion sting??!
p.s. This post is for dear Lia and anyone else who might assume life is all hugs and sugar cookies in the Tollipop house. Somehow I failed to take a picture of last night's altercation, but imagine a few tear stained cheeks and scathing glances, and a mother who was pushed beyond reason and threatened instead to take away the dollhouse altogether and THEN won't we jolly well have a grand old time?!