It's a hand me down "gag" gift from my hil-arrrrious friend, made out of way too much hot pink grosgrain ribbon and it drives me completely and utterly insane, mostly because no matter where I hide it, the damn thing always ends up back on my daughter's head.
I've taken to sending her pictures of Quinlan every single time she wears it - which is now almost every day.
"You remember that damn bow you gave me? Yeah. Well. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE."
I generally get a reply that goes something like this:
Now before you call me a bow hating Yankee, let me just explain to you that Quinlan never really had any hair, so I never bought clips or headbands or any sort of hair apparatus.
But apparently hair grows, you see, and since we live in the South, we're surrounded by bows.
They are everywhere.
And oh how she admires them. Especially the big ones. With porkers or korkers or whatever they're called. You know, the ones where it looks like a bunch of bows exploded on the little girl's head in the shape of a cheerleading pom pom.
They sort of make me want to take a big fat crap in my adult diaper.
"Oh mommy look at the pretty bows, they're so pretty, wouldn't they look nice in my hair mommy?"
We'll send her upstairs to get dressed, and without fail, she'll come down with that damn headband on.
My husband tries valiantly to talk her down from the bow ledge.
"But look at this pretty headband. It actually matches better. So why don't you come here and take the bow off. It'll be okay. Really."
"No Daddy. I like it. The hot pink ham-band matches my hot pink leggins."
Girl does have a point.
So while we can't bring ourselves to buy any more ridiculously large hair bows, we just can't bring ourselves to toss it out either.
Besides, I've got to hold onto it so I can strategically regift it back. Along with the other 400 fine Southern bows I'm collecting.
Oh they're coming for you TNG. Just you wait and see.