Some children have a favourite toy. Some have a cuddly rug.
But Miss Two has a pale pink tutu.
An Angelina Ballerina tutu, to be precise.
And where she goes "Angelina" goes too.
Being a wearable comfort item, it is constantly in a state of filth and disrepair.
But woe betide anyone who tries to
put it in the washing machine.
Such attempts are met with wild protestations and real tears.
Every morning it is the same routine. "I want Angelina," are the first words she utters.
Then off come the pyjamas and on slips the tutu.
It remains on her person for the rest of the day and, although she does not sleep in it, she takes it to bed with her and cuddles it tightly, leaving a stealth night wash out of the question.
Despite the frayed hem and stains, she gets adoring glances wherever she goes.
"How sweet."
"Oh a little ballerina."
"Off to ballet are we?"
And I force a smile, thinking, if only you could see the full force of her tantrums when she is separated from her beloved "Angelina". Because, there are occasions when "Angelina" simply must be washed.
Like when she doesn't make it to the toilet in time.
A particularly spectacular example happened at the weekend when we were doing a bit of DIY shopping.
One minute she is happily waving from the top of the Bunnings playground, the next she is clutching herself and before a trip to the toilet can even be suggested the floodgates open.
And from the lofty heights of the overbridge rains down the contents of her bladder.
She starts howling, as hubby and I, lost for words, try to blend into the outdoor furniture.
Then, as the last drips hit the ground below, quietly at first, and then gaining momentum, she wails one mournful word.
"Angeli-i-i-i-na."
Unconcerned about having wet herself or the embarrassment she has caused her parents, there is just one thing on her mind - she is going to have to take off her beloved tutu.
So, while I seek out some cleaning equipment, her father carries her to the car, kicking, bare-bottomed and still bemoaning the fate of "Angeli-i-i-i-na".
Proving the old adage that clothes do not maketh the man (or, in this case, the screaming pre-schooler).
Obviously she is just as capable of putting on a performance without her tutu.
