It's just another Saturday morning in the Tuna household. We begin by inhaling breakfast at the Grill Dogs in thirty minutes or less so TinyTuna can dash to choir rehearsal to sing Bach. Whilst waiting for our morning bacon, eggs and chili dogs of champions, we groggily thumb through the morning paper, looking for the obits.
What do we find? My little peasant juggling fluorescent tennis balls at the Medieval Festival they held at school yesterday. Although she was
TinyTuna: Mom, can I say the "P" word?
GreenTuna: No, you may not say the "P" word.
NOT AT ALL HAPPY (CAPS LOCK, BOLD, LEANED OVER) about being demoted from nobility to a peasant (the nobility costume was evidently a casualty in the basement flood), she still managed to have a really good time.
Hot pink and neon green ... it just screams 14th century, don't you think?