Both the top and the skirt were made. The twirly tutu skirt I will definitely write a tute for. Maia's little friend Elsie is having a birthday next week and a skirt has been requested so I'll write and photo it up then. The top was the same self-drafted pattern that I used for their Halloween skeleton outfits, but the neckbinding was fatter and sewn to the inside and then flipped over and tacked down. The bow was a result of much staring and hand-wringing; I wanted to do something ruffley but I couldn't decide how so the bow was a compromise. The dotty cuffs were to tie the design together and also because of the broken iron I would have had difficulty hemming it.
Lynn asked what my beef was with integrated Barbie cakes? Nothing at all, my friend. 'Cept these were the ones Maia wanted:
Dolls bouncing on the trampoline and waiting their turn. Seriously.
And many of you pointed out my mermaid was an amputee. Not so, haters. To add to the educational value of the cake she is like a classical bust. By making this cake we were able to initiate a robust dialectic about the mythological origin of mermaids and the stonemanship of the classical and Roman eras. Either that or I couldn't find the niche Australian biscuits referenced in the book:
Who likes Spot the Difference games? Everyone, that's who. Other notable differences include me using sprinkled white buttons instead of mint leaves for the scales. Mint leaves would be gross. Also gross? The book called for me to deep fry vermicelli for the hair thereby tainting her whole head with yucky. No thanks to the oily pasta head, I'll use sour strawberry straws because they're divine and the kids don't like them so I don't have to share. Third attempt by the Australian Women's Weekly to render the cake inedible? Using actual shells for the bikini. Beyond being impossible to find at short notice, I would have to boil them for six years before I'd put them on a cake. So yes, Pickled Weasal, they're shortbread.
Any other questions? About anything?