J and I have lately become obsessed with watching Antiques Roadshow. I cannot pinpoint when this happened, exactly, but here we are. It has everything: The oft-clueless yet lucky sons of bitches who are all, "I found this rusted can in the alley behind the meth lab!" only to be informed that said can is worth $12,000! The crazy experts, such as Alleged Artwork Connoisseur Who Touches The Books With Her OIL-FILLED HANDS AND OH MY GOD EVEN I KNOW TO WEAR THE COTTON GLOVES, AND MY ART EXPERTISE IS CULLED ENTIRELY FROM SEEING THE THOMAS CROWN AFFAIR THREE TIMES, YOU ARE KILLING ME HERE, LADY! And of course, Pocketbook Savant Woman Who Wears Hats, Necklace, Pin and Bracelet Made From What Appear to be Many Lacquered Cherries! We find this show to be RIVETING.
In and of itself, this is pathetic, however, the other night, someone brought in a samurai sword, and all I could think of the entire time was how great it would be if the appraiser gasped, shrieking "It's Japanese steel! Hattori Hanzo!" and then dropped to his knees, reverentially weeping. This is an actual thing that I thought. Like, for real.
I have become an insufferable butter snob. (Thank you, JONNIKER. No, seriously. Thank you. I just feel bad for anyone who ever tries to feed me crap butter ever again.) If you come over, I will likely talk your ear off about the virtues of cultured butter, and then make you eat some.
I recently purchased a cotton dress that I promptly and accidentally shrunk. I've since taken to wearing it around my house like a tiny nightgown, pretending I’m on So You Think You Can Dance. I mean, I kind of always do some weird Mia Michaels-type interpretive dance steps to the kitchen for snacks during the show’s commercial breaks, but…everyone does that, right? Right? Anyway, the point is, this dress is totally Opening Sequence Dancer Intro Material. You know, the part where you’re watching, you’re enjoying, and are all, “oh, cute nightgown-dress-thing, Kayla! So funky! So flowy, and –OH GIRL, THERE ARE YOUR UNDERWEARS.” And granted, they’re always wearing boy shorts underneath, but still. It’s…DISCONCERTING, is what it is. So, yes. I’ve taken to wearing this dress frequently (for it's quite comfy), and any time I AM wearing it, I have a great deal of trouble keeping myself from doing high kicks, spins, and Intensely Expressive Hand Movements, even when I am engaged in decidedly NONdance-related activities, such as Passing Olive Oil to my Husband for a Stir-Fry.
As you may know, our apartment is haunted. As such, I’m a little overzealous, shall we say, in terms of identifying potential supernatural activities. It’s quite unfortunate, therefore, that my son has developed a DELIGHTFUL habit of late, called “waking up in the middle of the night and just…standing there. Yep, right over there, in the hallway outside our bedroom.” My god, you guys. Can I tell you how scary it is to be, say, innocently walking to the bathroom to hang up a towel, and seeing a figure just…standing there? Or waking up at 2:00 AM, sensing you're being watched, only to see that…you are? Of course, every time this happens, I don’t realize it’s him at first, and proceed to freak the fuck out, involuntarily emitting a high-pitched scream. Which, in turn, scares him. I wish I could train myself to realize that this is my son, going through a new (AND HEART ATTACK-INDUCING) phase, but alas, I do not, and instead immediately jump to the conclusion that he’s either a vengeful leprechaun, or one of the Children of the Corn. I of course come to my senses after a second, but it's a looooong, shriek-filled second.
The children ate Brussels sprouts for dinner.
So! Who wants to come over?