No. 6 just appeared in my doorway and said, "I'm not sure who you're going to marry."
She went on to say that, in spite of this one small uncertainty, she is planning to buy herself ("Well, not by myself, because my mother has to drive me.") a "wedding dress" so that she can be a flower girl and dance with our debonair young cousins, Noah and Jared.
She saw a dance floor for the first time at the wedding we went to last weekend, and she's smitten.
"At your wedding," she says, "there will be a wood floor."
I'm not sure how to break it to her about our being Southern Baptists and all. But I guess I've got time.
Here's her face when I reminded her that getting married means moving away:
No doubt she'll be even sadder when she learns about the dance floor . . .