If you joined me yesterday, you are aware of the Halloween trauma that I inflicted upon my my 2-year-old son Jeffrey. I am certain that judging by his hysterical reaction to his chicken costume, or “sicken” as he calls it, it is likely that a vegan lifestyle is in his future.
I am happy to report that he may have been spared from countless sessions of hypnotherapy thanks to a little peer pressure from the cute, little, blond, spitfire in his daycare. It seems Jeffrey, much like his father, has a penchant for blondes (go figure, I’m as dark haired as they come), and the rougher the blonde the better.
Tattoos and a leathery, orange. fake tan? Yes please.
When Blondie appeared in her princess costume, The little “sicken” wiped his tears and morphed in front of my eyes into the proudest rooster you ever did see.
Apparently real “sickens” don’t cry.