Our little Heffalump, all grown up

The day has finally arrived.  Shit. Shit. Shit.

Our little Princess has reached an age where she’s forced to jump into the cesspool of hormones, commonly known as high school.  By the way, may I still call you Princess? What am I saying, I’m your father and I can call you Princess until the day you die. I’ve earned that right after changing numerous soiled nappies and burping you in the middle of the night.  O-kay most of that was Mom but I did manage to squeeze in a few parental duties during your formative years, like allowing you to wrap me around your little finger.  So you will remain my Princess irrespective of how many years you move away from your birth date.

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