This morning I was awoken by our three-year-old daughter, as is usually the case. She likes to help me get ready in the morning. This is a conversation we had while I was getting dressed.
"Hobo? What's a hobo?" I asked.
"Hobo there! mumbmnnusdf pretty dress!" She opens up her hand to reveal several ribbons and bows.
"Oh! HAIR bows! Not hobos! Can you say 'hair bow?'"
"Hobo!"
"Hair. Bow."
"Ho--bo."
"Hair?"
"Haair!"
"Bow."
"Bow!"
"Hair bow."
"Hairhobo!" At this point I cannot stop laughing. She gets up on the bed behind me. "I wanna hairhobo."
"I'm sure we all want a hairhobo, dear. Where would you like me to put it?"
"No! I lkdlkonmmsld daddy hairhobo!"
And that is the story of why I am currently wearing a hairhobo.
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