So, last night Spilly threw herself around the house, yelling, "Allabaydomarolalabiddamobo...." or something like that, in various gradations of operatic grandeur.
I said to my husband, just to see what he'd do, "She gets it from Daddy."
He gave me a withering look. We both know where she gets it from. Not that I would ever throw myself around the house bellowing a tune. Not me.
Spilly said, "What did I get from Daddy?"
"You inherited your singing from Daddy," I told her. "You're just like Daddy."
By now, my husband was rolling his eyes at the useless pair of us.
"I'm not Daddy! Daddy, I'm not you. I'm a YOUNG WOMAN."
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Ha ha soo cute. When I was little, my mom told me I got my hair from my dad. I said something along the lines of, "Nuh uh, his hair his silver and mine is brown." Looking in the mirror nowadays, I can say I most certainly have my father's hair. Damn.
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