A month ago for Clara's birthday, my dear friend, Erin, agreed to be the Fairy Godmother at the birthday party. She went to D.I. and bought a fancy dress and a tiara. She was the hit of the party. Last night in a "I HAVE TO GO ON A DATE WITH DAVE" fit I asked Erin if she could babysit. She agreed (yay!) and so I told Clara that her Fairy Godmother was coming over to babysit.
Clara, was thrilled. Did I say thrilled? I meant overjoyed. She danced, sang, twirled, and all that girly stuff.
A little while later Erin knocked on the door. Clara shrieked and ran to the door saying, "It's my Fairy Godmother!" We opened the door and...
Erin walked in. In jeans and flip flops.
The look on Clara's face could have frozen ice. She looked Erin up and down from head to toe with disdain. All of a sudden we realized that she expected this:
Fast forward to the end of the night. We got home from our date (yay!) and Clara had obviously forgiven her Fairy Godmother for over clothing oversight because she was snuggled up with her on the couch. Josh had been asleep for hours. Erin reported that Clara called her nothing but "Fairy Godmother" or "Fawy Godmudda" all night.