My 4th grader is my clone, only she talks more. A lot more.
Not only does she look like my mini-me (the girl was blessed with my good skin and awesome hair and lovely booty, but sadly cursed with my apple shape and under-eye baggage) but she just, well, IS me.
She just turned to me on the couch and said, “What do you think Mark Anthony had to do to get Jennifer Lopez to marry her? I mean, he certainly married up, didn’t he?”
It was as if she took the words straight out of my mouth.
She does that a lot.
Sure, there are flashes of pre-teen at times. There’s the moodiness and the “there’s absolutely nothing in my closet full of clothing to wear”s. But guess what? I am often moody and feel like there’s nothing in my closet full of clothing to wear.
But, those things aside, Emily is my best friend. She makes an excellent shopping partner, and unlike most people, she will be completely honest and tell me when something isn’t flattering. She makes an excellent cheesy movie date, because unlike her father, she is willing to munch on some popcorn and embrace the cheese. She makes an excellent partner in reality tv crime; American Idol, The Biggest Loser, Project Runway, Survivor, America’s Next Top Model.
She likes shoes and donuts and ballerinas and making lists and carbs and taking photos and giant sunglasses and The Avett Brothers and angry birds and Glee and skinny jeans and social media and Pinterest and Settlers of Catan and showtunes and cowboy boots and headbands and dancing to silly music and gossiping about boys and eating the cookie dough instead of baking the cookies.
I couldn’t ask for a better best friend.
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