I hate my gene pool

Arne spent part of yesterday explaining exactly what kind of tricks he wants to do at the kiddie party. "Not "tricks, Sandra, illusions," he said, and then described something with a trunk, a bird, two hankerchiefs, and either me or the cat. After that he forgot he needed to practise whatever the "illusion" was and we watched Blade III with a couple of beers. Today I'm going into TO with Duncan. He's meeting me at the GO station, and we'll get him a kilt or a reasonable substitute. Enid told me that real kilts are custom made and take a bit to make, so we'll just have to pick up something at Hell's Belles (candy-goth heaven, but they do have men's stuff).