It always starts out with a Little Pirate Disappearing Act. On bad days it results in a butcher knife in her little fist as she runs out of the kitchen, where she sprung it free from the dishwasher. On better days it usually results in something like this:
Ready for, uh, scribbling on the belly and ripping her clothes off. Hopefully summer is around the corner because her sudden preference for wearing only shoes and no clothes doesn’t bode well for future career paths of which I’d approve. Not at all.