You Can't Make This Stuff Up

My daughter loves to dress herself up in fabric remnants, then practice sweeping pseudo-balletic moves around the house, often to no music at all, and of course with as large an audience as she can drum up. So last night she outfitted herself in some gauzy black and white number gathered with hair clips and secured with bobby pins, and presented us with the following invitations:

Mademn Lady (I think she's onto something here. This spelling bespeaks of respect, whereas "madam" just makes me think of madman -- not at all solemn or prestigious. Now who do I write about getting this spelling altered?)
Dad got Sir Dad (also quite solemn and dignified, as opposed to Corn-fuscius...)

The neatly folded purple construction paper opened to:
You are gradually invited to Lindsey's dance recietal! Join me as I prance throughout the floor as soon as all the lights go out! Please accept a front row seat on the sofa!

I had to run the spotlight (aka Mag flashlight), but it was definitely a show like no other.

Happy Tuesday.

Autumn Piper
Got romance?