Blah blah Team No Babies blah blah kids are dumb – but I swear to god, I almost felt my ovaries twitch when I read this:

A harbour seal reportedly leapt from the water and dragged a five-year-old girl off a dock at a marina in West Vancouver on Tuesday, according to the child’s father.

He initially thought his daughter’s hand was broken because it was badly swollen and bleeding with four large puncture wounds at the base of her wrist.

The little girl was traumatized and taken to the hospital to be treated for the puncture wounds, but is otherwise OK, Cunningham said.

After the incident, she told her father she thought it was very rude of the seal not to ask if she wanted to go for a swim, and she doesn’t want to feed the seal or be its friend anymore.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEE! SO MUCH CUTE !!

*pant pant*

Okay, all better now.

Every day before I leave the house for work, I present myself to Ed and ask how I look. It’s not a fashion thing, as he doesn’t get to tell me what to wear – we have wildly dissimilar tastes, and if I let him have a say in my wardrobe my life would have a lot fewer sequins and my feather boas would never get any love. The entire “how do I look?” routine is merely a precautionary measure – he makes sure I’m wearing pants and my shoes are on the right feet, and I am comforted knowing that I pass mustard.

This morning, though, Ed said something to me he’s never said before:

“You look professional!”

Sadly, it’s true. I look like I work in a high rise office building in downtown Vancouver – which I *do*, but still. I’m positively .. appropriate, and it’s kind of making me sick. The boobs are covered – the pants, while denim, are elegant and stylish – there’s a cardigan involved – and I’m wearing HEELS. There isn’t a trace of glitter on my face, and my hair looks recently combed. Who is this person, and what has she done with the real me?

My metamorphosis can be rather easily explained away, though: it’s Laundry Day, and we’re at Alert Level Fuchsia. I literally have no normal clothing left that I could wear outside a ballroom dance competition or a ditch digging party. If we don’t take laundry in tonight, I may have to go nude at PAX.

The heels weren’t entirely necessary, though. The cut of the pants is such that if I don’t wear an elevated shoe, I all but disappear in a wad of fabric and hair. With the (admittedly fabulous) addition of a 1.5” heel, I gain visible feet and a straighter spine. These things will do me no good at all when I inevitably catch my foot on my flapping pant leg and go sailing headfirst down the stairs, but at least I look presentable when I am standing perfectly still.

I will be glad when my regular clothes come back clean.