Butch

Toots is obsessed with Scooby Doo and this morning looked up from her Doo coloring book to tell me she wants to be Daphne next Halloween.

 

Great!” I say. That should be easy: mini skirt, boob inserts, bouffant wig. I should find that all in Party City’s “Appropriate for 5-Year-Olds” aisle.

 

Then Toots tells me that for Halloween, I can dress up like “that guy with the glasses and orange sweater.

 

Poor Velma.

 

She was always my favorite and now I have Scooby Doo proof that Toots has veered from my genetic code.

 

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