Well, I have apparently screwed up my child for life. Again. I'm realizing it is fairly easy to do...this messing up your children. I seem to be getting pretty good at it. Give me another couple years to fully perfect it, but I'm getting there.
We went with our friends to their church tonight for a pancake dinner put on by a local boy scout troop. It was a Mardi Gras theme, complete with plastic beads. Though, there wasn't anyone drunk or topless (That I saw. But, I'm guessing the boy scouts would have been all for that--the topless, not the drunk. Or, maybe the drunk. I don't know. Who am I to say? I'm no boy scout.) Anyway. The tables had Mardi Gras beads and fake plastic coins and (doom. DOOM. DOOOOOOM!!!!!) plastic masks.
Oh lordy. Becca took one look at those masks and promptly lost. her. shit. Eyes shut, hands smacked over them and lots of screaming and shaking. It was as if there were bloody instruments of torture strewn about, so visceral and terrifying it was to her.
"Maskes are scary," she said. "I do NOT like maskes! I WANT TO GO HOME!" It was an exact repeat of this lovely day.
She spent the entire meal in my lap crying with her head buried, hands over her eyes, shaking. I wolfed down a few pancakes and we left, with Becca sobbing the entire way out about how she was NEVER GOING TO CHURCH AGAIN.
We might have been better off somewhere with drunk topless people.
Fat Tuesday: FAIL.