Last Wednesday I presented a little girl who was having a birthday for the seventh time in her life with a tutu I had made for her. She couldn't have been more ecstatic. I made a sock bun in her hair, put her in white stockings and sent the ballerina forth to camera land.
Something was missing, however. Back to the bedroom we went to envelop her brother in a tight grey turtleneck, black socks and stockings. Voila! Well, it was the best we could do with the resources we had on hand and a childish-impatience-fueled hurry.
Now pay close attention, I am going to teach you something that I KNOW you don't know. Torturous tidbit coming up: A male ballet dancer is called a...ballerino!
I just know you are going to sleep better tonight for finally having this question that has been haunting you so long put to rest. Why didn't you just look it up on Wikipedia for once and for all like I did?
I like making tutus. A lot. The first one I did was for myself and everyone who has looked upon it has been filled with admiration and/or envy, harhar.
I do so want to make more, and I shall, just as soon as I can get enough material to make them properly huge. I want people to say I am fat when I wear it so I can contradict them in my best moody mammoth voice: I'm not fat. It's all this tulle. It makes me look...poofy.
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Say what you will, I'm moderating all your comments anyway, harhar.