Post-prandial evidence, Oakland, CA.
Yes, fried donutey kind of cupcakes on a stick with extremely blue dipped icing–superman’s tights color blue, come to think of it–and a Superman “S” on the side (cake pops? I think they were?). Yes, for a girl’s party, why do you ask? This is the 21st century here people. His best friends are more or less evenly divided between girls and boys. Again, I cite the whole 21st century, full-spectrum thing.
He wanted to be spiffy, so he wore his tuxedo pants and blazer, with his favorite green brimmed hat and a flower in his lapel. He wanted a red rose (where do you get an eye for that kind of detail at five years old?); unfortunately we didn’t have one, nor did we even have a neighbor with one we were willing to pinch, so he made do with a daisy-ish looking thing from our garden. He’s little, so I can’t really say he’s a clothes horse. More like a clothes pony.
He’s his Baba’s boy, no doubt about it. Which is great, because I’m his Baba, right on back.