National Candy Day means breakfast rules don't apply, and apparently neither does the dress code. Tell me which one you'd steal first?
National Candy Day means breakfast rules don't apply, and apparently neither does the dress code. Tell me which one you'd steal first?
National Sandwich Day, so I built a double-decker way taller than my mouth planned for. The shirt volunteered as a bib and lost. Come take the half I can't finish?
Deviled eggs for Deviled Egg Day, and so far the filling has landed everywhere except the eggs. The apron is technically doing its job, just not for the reasons it was made for. Come lick the piping bag clean with me?
Day of the Dead got the full treatment this year — half my face painted, the altar drowning in marigolds, and the rest of me apparently optional. Come finish the other side?
The witch is officially retired, and National Authors Day felt like permission to spend the afternoon horizontal with a book instead. Four chapters in and none of it has sunk in. Come distract me properly?
Witch was the winning costume tonight, though most of it didn't survive past the first hour of getting ready. The hat and stockings are holding the whole look together. Trick or treat — you pick which one I am?
National Candy Corn Day snuck up on me, so I've been snacking straight from the bowl since the coffee kicked in. The shirt gave up on staying closed somewhere around the third handful. One piece left on the pile — come claim it?
National Internet Day, and the very first message ever sent online was just "LO" before the whole thing crashed. Fitting, honestly — I got about two letters into typing tonight and got distracted too. Come finish my sentence?
Adopting full black cat energy for National Black Cat Day — nine lives' worth of trouble and zero plans to behave before Halloween. Come scratch behind my ears?
Record Store Day treated me well — the haul made it home, the pants didn't. I've been on the floor with these sleeves longer than I'll admit. Come pick what plays first?