Some of you dear readers keep asking for a house tour. Here it is. But not really.
I went back and pulled together past pictures from various posts and just stuck them all in one place. So it’s not a real house tour. It’s more like those fake Barbie dolls with too-big eyes. Or those knock off jeans at Target with labels that are clearly not expensive, even though they’re trying really hard.
I’m just going to do what everyone else in our country is doing right now. I’m blaming it all on Miley Cyrus.
And while we’re on the subject of Miley Cyrus, can we all just agree that the Thicke fellow in all his Footlocker garbed splendor should be thrown under the same judgement bus?
All that to say, Jane, if you become a pop star and behave like that, I’ll hobble up on stage and chase you around with my cane. And then I’ll fall. And you’ll come over to help me. And I’ll totally knock your knees out from under you with said cane and we’ll both be sprawled out together, beneath the house lights.
You’ll look at me and say, “I hope you’re happy mother, you’ve ruined my career.”
And I’ll say, “I am. Here, put on this sweater.”
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.