Last weekend my youngest daughter turned 13.
I took pictures on my cell phone camera and she asked if I was going to put it on my blog.
I told her it was not blogworthy.
That was not a nice thing for me to say.
Her friends call me Garl. They say it with a pirate accent. It’s kind of funny.
The little smiley face balloon was scary. Unless you tied the balloons to something low, it always set up against the ceiling staring down at everyone with it’s creepy little grin and pointed little hat.
They did pagan rituals with sparkling candles that could not be extinguished. The flames of evil were put into cupcakes. The cupcakes were ironically in the shape of a peace sign. I suspect this was done to try and put you off your guard for the insanity that was to follow.
As if to add to the macabre atmosphere, they took turns beating a little colorful donkey with a stick. To enhance the violence they took to blindfolding themselves with some kind of makeshift mask that resembled cuddly little bear ears.
I think I heard them calling the innocent donkey Carlos. They taunted him and beat him mercilessly until he was finally decapitated. I almost shed a tear as candy spilled from his broken body.
Happy birthday Weezy.