the red dress

Oh, Kosty. Kosty, Kosty, Kosty, Kosty. I don't know what else to say...he fills my days with joy and pain. He knows what he likes and won't back down. But neither will I. That's the problem. And that's why his heart belongs to Daddy. He is extremely particular when it comes to his clothes and when it comes to MINE. He likes me in my gray sweats and white v-neck when I wake up. Lucky for him, that's what I wear 99% of the time. He likes me in full pj's or fully clothed and nothing in between. He gets pretty ticked if I come out with a towel on my head or with wet hair. When I get dressed and see him for the first time, he gives me a once over and instantly lets me know if its working for him or not. He HATES hats on me. He hates RVCA, Freedom, any tees. Unless I wear a cardigan on top. Then he likes. But he hates my mustard cardigan. I could go on and on.

This day, it started out with a simple request. Please wear the red dress. I said no.

and ended like this:Me refusing to back down + him refusing to back down = disaster. It is kinda sad now looking at him holding on to that red dress for dear life with such agony on his face. But I had to prove a point! Besides, his wife will thank me some day. Or not. Eeek! His poor wife.