"I am a genius. I have judged you and found you acceptable. Congratulations! Will you be my godmother? I'm afraid you'll have to: 1) Let me poop on you whenever I deem it appropriate. 2) Watch Dr. Horrible with me on a loop. 3) Love me a lot. 4) Take me to a Broadway show. Say yes or I'll be stuck with someone who doesn't understand sarcasm."
Because being a regular godmother just isn't fancy enough for me.
(Got this photo request in an email from Ellyn last night, which made me feel good because, you know, she wanted me to be her kid's godmother. But way more importantly, she edited this photo (With words! On the photo!) all on her own, without my help. You're on your own for blog designs now, El. Clearly you've been holding out on me.)
(And yes, the child did already poop on me. And, for the record, he's the second McCall to poop on me.)