Rogue Dark

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 overwrought about the birthday of one of one’s most bestest friends, a birthday that is formally today, but which won’t be noted 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 unpretentiously improvise with whatever one has on hand. or hindquarters, as it were:it’s clean, in case you were wondering. she’s pretty persnickety that something like a collapse: dirty pants are immediately deposited, by pant-wearer, in the bathroom, regardless of whether the potty has been entangled with. clean pants, well. they can end up anywhere. on any tot up of dolls, stuffed muppets or luxurious 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.*********organize you captivated 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 humankind! in a photo! on your blog! (alternatively, you could make up just something back the dare – you know, fitting go with truth, if you’re skittish about photos – but you’d have to be descriptive. so that we could fill out c draw up-up our own mental picture. which could be better or worse.) if you do it, link us up and/or let me differentiate in a comment to my self-portrait post.so far, participants include: moihrh sweetney (she started it, so any and all cursing – or props for intrepidity – should be directed at her)dame otjmme. cultivate ‘em and countmissus mamaloguesmrs. flingermadame izzyms. motherbumper
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