Bitchiness is Hereditary

It straddles on the border of good taste, I know. However, I'm hoping my über Christian mum will like it well enough. I contimplated getting one for myself, digging the kitch value.

Yes, there's a solar light that shines from Christ's feet up to the face.

And on the other hand, this is the shirt she picked up for Middle Child from her sojourn in Texas to visit my cousin. I guess there's a reason why my mother has momentary bouts of nasty quips toward me (ie. "Your cousin has lovely decorating taste. Not like you"). Because what did I say when I first saw this shirt? "'Texas kicks ... Democrats?' You got my little boy a Republican shirt?" Of course, I'm sure she, and most people, would read it as "Texas kicks ass" but there's me trying out some high-brow humour and it fell flat.

Thankfully, she bought it in, I swear, a men's small, so Middle Child may never have the chance to wear it.

I would try to shrink it but Husband broke the washing machine last night while I went out to buy milk.

He decided to wash one pillow. The thing was banging loud enough to wake the dead. He went in to get a new toilet paper roll and noticed water all over the floor. He checked the tubes and they seem all connected so I called the repair guy this morning because it would sooo suck if I had to go to the laundromat. If it was the Sparkle Brite in Victoria with the fish 'n chips place across Oak Street, that would be fine. Barely.