It Takes a Village to Wear a Dirndl

Since Boo received a dirndl from her germanophile grandfather — months ago — we’ve been trying to get her to wear it. We tried the usual bribes disguised as rewards, of course: no result.

And reverse psychology (“I sure hope you don’t wear that dress!”) didn’t work nearly as well as it always does in cartoons. I guess Boo’s not as dim as Daffy Duck, or I’m not as clever as Bugs Bunny.

Months, I repeat, of begging and wheedling and pointing out and persuading came to a head when our friend and the Blueberry’s godmother visited.

Boo: “Tell me what I should wear!”
Friend: “How about the dirndl?”
Boo: “OK!”

Voy-ee-la and the thing was done, and she’s worn the damn dress a half-dozen times since, too:

Now, was that so hard?

I get that almost-3-year-olds test boundaries and can be — let’s just say “oppositional” — with their own parents. Why, then, are they so eager to please as soon as anyone else comes over?

I suspect the answer lies in Mother Nature’s primary goal: the torture of all humanity.

For future reference, you’ll know you’re in Boo’s true inner circle when she doesn’t wear what you request, and instead tosses a hissy over wanting her infant sister’s clothes (tight, you think?) and ruby slippers — and no jacket, despite the rain.

And if that happens? Just pull in someone off the street to pick out an outfit — it’s what we do.