birthday

My mother stopped on Friday evening to wish me a happy birthday, something she used as an excuse to see Marlo and lavish her with gifts including this cowgirl hat and that ungodly shirt. You can’t see from here but the collar is all pink lace and it continues down the entire back of the shirt. This is what we call “Lola fancy,” a term derived from the style of my mother’s older sister Lola who doesn’t walk to the mailbox without wearing five-inch heels and at least two clashing animals prints in blinding colors. She sees me in my yoga pants and wonders how my mother could have gone so horribly wrong.

Marlo is much more into dressing up than Leta ever was, so she stripped off what she was wearing at the time and jumped right into this outfit. And then she began posing. I don’t have any idea where she learned how to do this, but my heritage and ancestry are shout-whispering in my head, “PAGEANTS! PAGEANTS!”