A Pull-Up Pant By Any Other Name Is Still A Hat
What does one do when one is almost exactly two years and four months old and is very, very excited about the birthday of one of one's most bestest friends, a birthday that is formally today, but which won't be celebrated until Sunday? Why, one starts partying in advance, of course. Which means, one needs a party hat. And if one does not have a party hat with which to party, well, then, one must simply improvise with whatever one has on hand. Or bottom, as it were:
It's clean, in case you were wondering. She's pretty fastidious that way: dirty pants are immediately deposited, by pant-wearer, in the bathroom, regardless of whether the potty has been involved. Clean pants, well. They can end up anywhere. On any number of dolls, stuffed Muppets or plush phallic symbols. Or on one's head. Which, really, is the most festive of all options, don't you think?
Happy Birthday, Mister H. We loves you lots.
Have you taken THE DARE yet? Instead of issuing a Flashback writing prompt this Friday, Tracey and I are pimping the Dare of Truthiness: reveal your true, unmade-up self to the world! In a photo! On your blog! (Alternatively, you could write just something about the dare - you know, just go with truth, if you're skittish about photos - but you'd have to be descriptive. So that we could make-up our own mental picture. Which could be better or worse.) If you do it, link us up and/or let me know in a comment to my Self-Portrait post.
So far, participants include:
HRH Sweetney (she started it, so any and all cursing - or props for bravery - should be directed at her)
Mme. Breed 'Em And Weep