Shawn L. Bird

NB.  Beaufort is pronounced Byoo-furt in this one.

Just a snap shot in words.

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“Beaufort T. Scott!  Is that your mama’s blue eye shadow all over your face?” Sadie looked again and rammed her hands onto her hips, elbows jutting out menacingly.  “And why on Earth are you wearing your sister’s skirt?

“It’s not a skirt!  It’s a kilt.  Kilts are for men.  Mama says so!”  He thrust his tongue out to emphasize the point.

“It’s a gingham skirt with a calico ruffle, Beaufort.”

His lower lip quivered.  “It’s a kilt!”

Joline’s kitten pounced by, narrowly missing a lucky grasshopper.  Beaufort bent over to examine it, demonstrating that he was wearing his ‘kilt’ in the traditional manner.

Sadie raised an eyebrow.  “Careful that cat doesn’t reach up and slice off your privates.”

In alarm, the little boy swooped up the cat and dangled it protectively over the privates in question.

Sadie bit back a laugh.  The poor little cat looked for all the world like a pipe major’s badger sporran hanging there, tail twitching between the little boy’s knees.

“Ah, Beaufort,” she sighed.  “You’ll be the death of me.”