Because Pottery Barn is an asshole and I cannot possibly resist their tempting overpriced wares, every time they come out with their Halloween Issue, I tear into it like it’s a brand new issue of Maxim magazine. Eagerly, I examine the overpriced costumes and figure out which ones my kids MIGHT allow me to dress their very particular bodies in before the inevitable day when they say, “Mom, I want to be a ghost” and beg for a simple sheet.

This year, I managed to grab the magazine as I was headed out with Alex, who was highly INTERESTED in what I was looking at.

I’ve been TRYING to get one of my children to be the Land Shark for years, and no, every year they deny me. Which means that I need a costume party to be the Land Shark and be all ‘CANDYGRAM’ and then no one will laugh but me, but I will laugh enough for everyone else.

Well, anyway, I’m in the car with Alex and I’m all, “you could be popcorn! or rootbeer! or a carton of milk!”

And Alex, my miniature clone, said, simply, emphatically, with his mind made up, “No.”

Perhaps he is paying me back for these costumes.

The Halloweenier.

Or this:

The Hedgehog of DOOOOOOM.

Because he said, “I’m going to be a beautiful butterfly. But be careful, Mom, don’t step on my wings!”

The butterfly costume is this, Pranksters:

Pottery Barn, you win again. My son will be the most beautiful, manly butterfly in a dress, ever.

And I will never, ever stop hearing the end of it from his father, grandfather, my brother and every other male he comes into contact with. But I don’t fucking care. If my kid wants to be a beautiful butterfly, he can be a beautiful fracking butterfly.

I just might buy him some wee combat boots to go along with it. And maybe a spike collar. He will be the most beautiful butterfly on the block.

And I will punch anyone who looks at him funny. Because it’s a MANLY TUTU and he’s just a little boy who likes butterflies and flowers and light and for GOD’S SAKE his first word was PENIS and he can throw a ball better than most 20-year old’s I know, and really, Alex is composed primarily of sweetness and light and snips and snails and puppy dog tails and I have never met anyone more wholly good than him.

So yes. A butterfly. My son, Mister Butterfly. Spike The Butterfly.

Sounds kinda manly.

Right…?

Comments = full of the awesome. Like gravy. I can haz an RSS RSS feed .

123 Responses to That’s *ahem* MISTER Butterfly To You

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