I was supposed to be wearing a £30 hand-crocheted ninja turtle costume from Etsy for Halloween. Donatello, Daddy’s favourite. If I had been a boy, that’s what he wanted to call me. My middle name would have been Q so he could call me Don Q, which is a brand of Puerto Rican rum. So I would have been named after a mutant cartoon turtle and booze.
It’s a good thing I was a girl.
Anyway, Mommy forgot to order my fancy costume, which takes three weeks to make, apparently. So Mommy and Daddy did what all lazy parents do for Halloween – they bought me a £6 pumpkin costume from the supermarket.
Then Mommy went to Mothercare and found a ninja turtle onesie. It was Raphael (boo) and lacked the middle-class cachet of a handmade costume, but it was better than a pumpkin, even though I’m pretty much the cutest pumpkin ever.
So today I’m not a delicate princess or a fairy or a cat in a tutu (which is an actual baby costume at Mothercare for some reason). I’m a bad-ass ninja. I fight with twin sai, which are almost as pointy as baby nails. I’m cool but rude.
Don’t mess with me.