This Is Me At Age Two
Okay, not really. She was supposed to be Mary Tyler Moore, or a stray Caucasian extra from the Foxy Brown movies, but neither the shag wig nor the afro wig would stay on her head, which is to say, the small person in question pulled said wigs off of her head every time I tried to put them on (which, admittedly, I did while laughing at her, which she didn't appreciate. No Mommy laughing!!!)
So she just ended up thusly, a tiny person in a polyester lounge suit (fabricated in Montreal in 1973, according to the label.) She wanted to wear a squashed little porkpie hat with the outfit, but that just made her look a wee, demented Mr. Furley, and I thought that it was probably more poetic that she do her first trick-or-treating excursion dressed as her mother, circa the mid-seventies:
The problem with a costume like this is that, in the city, you could very well come across some kid dressed like this by their hipster parent, which means that not everybody gets that it's a costume. Again, one or the other of the wigs would have helped, but the child has a hair aversion, obviously, and so we were left with this look, which is either a) very avant-garde children's wear, or b) an obscurely-referenced Halloween costume. The little old Portuguese ladies on my street didn't care. They just shouted look at handsome leetle boy! and gave her extra candy. So, you know, it all worked out for the best.
Against my own better judgment, I decided to leap into the frenzied waters that are NaBloPoMo. Against my better judgment, because I'm barely keeping my head above water as it is (or, out of the toilet water, as the case may be), and because I've become the world's worst blog citizen ever, and shouldn't I be spending my time actually trying to make contact with the world, rather than just gazing ever more intently at my own navel? But I never follow my own best judgments, so here we are, and in any case I am very much hoping that the act of putting fingers to keyboard every day will prompt or inspire me to actually write something thoughtful, eventually. And if not, well, at least there's always pictures, and links, and other virtual ephemera, which will all keep me distracted as I struggle to find my way out of first-trimester hell...