I wore an apron as a cape yesterday. I could explain, but if you need an explanation, you don't know me well yet.
It came in the mail, courtesy of a dear friend who saw its bright, retro print and thought, "ah! Made for Bitty." I traipsed around the house in it for a while, reveling in the fact that it perfectly matched the outfit I had chosen for my Birthday. I soon noted, however, that the ties around the waist could easily go about the neck, and the apron became a cape for about an hour. It was lovely. I discovered, though, that when I wear capes, I become melodramatic. Note to self. I wore it in the car on the way to the store and screeched at inopportune times, overreacting to slight turns and speed changes. It was lovely.
My "flatmate", as someone recently called her, made a homemade devils food cake with cherry almond frosting. She festooned it with flowers and three large votive candles snuggled into cupcake paper liners. Apparently we were out of birthday candles. A festive sight, that. A ridiculously loud, off-key Happy Birthday song later, and I was wiping frosting off my mouth and playing Apples to Apples with gusto, vim and vigor. They're friends of mine (rimshot, please!). I am the proud recipient of a one hour massage gift certificate, the movie Constant Gardener, an upcoming day out, red and yellow daisies and mums, an apron-cape, and the memory of the six year old announcing proudly and shyly that he was going "to sit next to the birthday girl."
A nice foreshadowing of a reception in which I plan to hang numerous pinatas.