There are only two or three people in the whole world who know what I am up to this Christmas, craft-wise. I have found myself at a loss as to how to continue and complete it and have, therefore, gotten silly.
Can you guess?
While the angry plate looks on, those with decorated dresses stand over the mutilated paper umbrella. Those with plain dresses huddle together forlornly or, perhaps in an attitude of conspiracy. All their faces are blank and unreadable as they stare woodenly at nothing.
What has happened here?
And what, oh, what has happened to their hair?