For the past few years, Carl and I have had this conversation:
"What are we going to be?"
"I don't know. Are we going to parties?"
"Yeah. I want to. Do you want to? What Are We Going To Be?"
"Aren't we supposed to be smart people? Who are at times funny? And smart?"
"No, the baby ate that. So what are we going to be?"
There is added pressure this year, because how often do you get to be a giant preggo in a costume? Really. But, true to our procrastinating form, we left it til the last minute. Saturday morning, about eight hours before there was a party to go to, I decided to pick a lane and go with it.
Behold, our whipped-together semi-lame, semi-amusing Halloween:
I can't decide what amused me more; the perpetual pained look on the wolf's face, or the basket full of condom treats. These are better pictured here:
(Hey there Little Red Riding Hood, you sure are lookin good...you're everything that a big bad wolf would want...to impregnate....ahooooo!)
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