Unclear why, wearing a beret two sizes too large, a red neck scarf tied like she’s about to storm a Parisian café, and wielding a full-size baguette like a sword, she is now tearing through the hallway, her eyes wild with sugar, shrieking “JE SUIS FRANÇAISE MAINTENANT, BORDEL!” in a questionable accent. She has not only stolen the baguette of doom, but also mounted the centerpiece skeleton horse.
I repeat: THE BABY THINKS SHE’S FRENCH.
Willow, Ziggy, Lilith, and I are in pursuit. Charlotte refused to run (“This is beneath me”), but she is throwing croutons as obstacles. I tried to reason with the baby, but she hissed “Vive la résistance!” and vaulted over the couch like a raccoon on espresso
Charlotte is howling “SACRÉ BLEU!” while trying to wrestle the baguette from her like it’s a cursed artifact and citing noise ordinance violations. Ziggy, confused about the disruption of her sixth nap of the day, is blocking exits like a grumpy customs officer. Lilith is attempting a containment hex in Old Occitan and she has summoned “Spooky Steve” from the Halloween tote.
Willow is galloping after them all with a plastic croissant in her mouth, barking “OUI! OUI! OUI!” as if she, too, has joined the resistance. She also was eating the fake cobwebs. Again.
This is no longer a household. This is the French Revolution staged by theater kids on espresso.
I, Luna, must now abandon my COO duties temporarily to restore law, order, and linguistic consistency. The report shall resume once the baguette has been neutralized, the beret confiscated, and Tartiflette reminded that we are not, in fact, reenacting Les Misérables in the hallway. Final note before I go tackle this madness: Karen just plugged in the Singing Skeleton Choir again. If I don’t make it, avenge me.
Vive le chaos.
—Luna, COO
Currently questioning everything
Update: I attempted to intervene, but was pelted with candy corns by the baby (I know it was her) and nearly tripped over a motion-activated rat that screamed “GET OUT!” at me.
…I considered it.
