My grandson, Luke, was nine last month. His mother asked him what theme he would like for his birthday party. He quickly said, “Sherlock Holmes.” (I like to think I had some influence there.)
“Fine,” said his mother, and promptly found him a pipe and a magnifying glass. But I provided the topper. I remembered a Deerstalker hat from some long ago Halloween, and after a brief search I found it on the floor of a closet. A bit dusty and moth-eaten but I brushed it off and sent it to Virginia via priority mail.
According to my sources, Luke put the hat on his head the minute it arrived and wore it until bedtime. When his mother insisted he take it off until the next day, Luke said, “It fits me perfectly.”
At that point, his father came in the room and said, “I thought it was a little big.”
“No, no. I don’t mean the size! I mean my personality.”