My mom likes to claim that I'm nothing like her. That after waiting years to have a daughter, she was shocked to find out I'm not what she expected. That I am, in fact, much more like my father. Well, while I tend to gravitate more towards my father's personality, there are things I do in my life that make me realize just how much like my mother I really am.
Case in point:
-There's no one in this world that likes my dad more than me, except my mom.
-I'm sorry mom, but my embarrassing inability to dance stems from you. You can't be offended, cuz I'm saying I'm the same way.
-Sarcasm. Enough said.
I could continue, but there's one trait in particular that, for some reason, I never noticed until recently. The names of our dolls.
Back in the day, my mom and her sister got these two dolls. Aunt Patti thought "Treetop" was a beautiful name for a doll. So my mom, being the realistic person she is, thought the doll might fall out of said tree top, and when she did it would go "Thud." So that's what she named her doll. Seriously, I dare you to find someone with a weirder doll name than "Thud."
So, years later, I come along. I can't remember all my dolls names, but my brother's are very fond of some of them (or maybe it's that they're fond of making fun of them...). Namely: Vanilla, Product 19 and Spoon Truck Nonsense. Now, I clearly remember naming the one "Vanilla" because she was the exact color of the vanilla ice cream my dad ate from Schwan's. As for the other two, I have no reasonable explanation other than to say I am my mother's daughter and that's all there is to it.