My daughter Brooke has a particular piece of clothing that she loves: the bunny dress. It's nothing special to look it, but its significance lies in how often she chooses to wear it. She's gotten mileage out of this dress.
The only time she doesn't request the bunny dress is when it's in the wash. She's been known to pull it out of her dirty clothes basket. It's too short, stained with marker, and showing signs of wear. She notices none of this.
Some mornings I gently coax her to wear a different outfit, and it rarely works. Perhaps I'm projecting my desires onto her. I'm bored with my winter wardrobe. I long for the lingering chill to formally lift so I can tuck my sweaters into the back of the closet once for all and break out different, lighter, more colorful clothes.
I want change. Brooke just wants the bunny dress.
There is only a small window in life when you can wear the same outfit four or five times per week and get away with it, so we're letting her capitalize on it.
Long live the bunny dress.