Or why you should never invite Competitive Internet Blogger Peoples to your child's birthday party:
Heather may have stolen tickets from two-year-olds, but I stole balls from them in order to keep this one pesky little toddler in an orange shirt from rolling my precious balls and generally just effing with my zone.
The birthday boy's father was trying to get nice photos of everybody and clearly, we cannot be bothered. Pushing my hair off my face would have required moving my hand from my thigh and THAT'S MY LUCKY STANCE. CANNOT MOVE. GO AWAY. 100,000 POINTS BUCKET IS IN RANGE AND THERE'S A PLASTIC SPIDER RING WITH MY NAME ON IT.
The good news is that you cannot see my pit stains. Skeeball is QUITE the exertion, y'all.
(I will note that Heather kept her valuable prizes for HERSELF, and I at least gave mine to Noah, who promptly broke his soccer-ball bracelet into a dozen separate choking hazards.)
(Oh fine, I did eat the Tootsie Roll. But it's not like he needed more chocolate.)
We don't get many birthday party invites. I don't know why.