Early in the morning we were up, getting breakfast together and donning costumes. Friends from next door came over to borrow glue guns and safety pins. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Finally, nourished and bedecked, we were ready to roll.
Louise was a princess... or a shooting star (if she felt inclined at that particular moment to wear the shooting star cape that Ana had very patiently helped her make)... or a shooting star princess. Or... well, whatever. It looked good.
June was a stubborn two year old who wore whatever she goddamned wanted to wear which most certainly wasn't some stupid costume, and she certainly wasn't posing for no stinkin' pictures.
The lovely lady was a lovely chicken (thanks Mary T. for the needle-and-thread magic).
And (obviously) I was "The Eternal Cycle of Death and Rebirth in the Post-Apocalyptic, Franco-Afro-Caribbean South (TECODARITPAFACS)" or "Pushing Up Daisies (PUD)" for short.