I took down the Christmas decorations, finally, and piled them on the table so they'd be in once place, then I assure you all month I will find Christmas hand towels in the laundry, and little decorative things I hung on a doorknob of a room I hardly use, and of course I'll forget the doormat is Christmas-themed till May, and so on.
Anyway, below are the dregs of dead Christmas. That I FOUND, anyway. Crap. The spoon rest. It's a Christmas spoon rest and it's still on display. See what I mean? Also, Dear Obsessed-with-Christmas mom and Aunt Mary who always get me Xmas stuff, Thanks.
And look! How convenient! In the corner is the afghan my grandmother knitted (or crocheted--HOW CAN YOU TELL?) me in 1977, that I challenged you to guess the colors. I am pretty certain someone suggested olive green, gold, rust and cream. I'm so glad I still have that afghan, as my grandmother was my #1 favorite person, even though she once threatened to shove a phone directory up my ass.
(Once there was a gay comedian who said his mom always pronounced it "Africans" instead of "afghans." "Yesterday I was so cold I had to get under two Africans." The comedian was all, "Been there, mom.")
Anyway, this was as far as I got in the taking down of the decorations last night, as I went to dinner with Ned and SHUT UP. Our plan is we get to eat once a week at a restaurant. We have NOT DONE SO all week! In fact, I think this is the first time we've eaten out in 2014. Okay, it's the 9th. We're hardly Ma and Pa Ingalls with the eating at home. Munching on the pig bladder from our afternoon slaughter. Still. Oh, and Ned would like his blog name to be Cockasaurus Rex from now on.
Dear Ned, No.
MY POINT IS, this morning I went into the bathroom and found this:
I HAD this really lovely peacock ornament, in my favorite Christmas colors of pink and purple, and he had a huge real feather attached. Why on earth did I think I could leave something with a real feather out with Blind Lizzie Borden living here? Catabul Lecter? Jeffrey Dahmerrrow? You get my drift.
Okay, I have to go, but before I do, I wanted to show you Cockasaurus Rex and my plates from last night.
Dudes. Why I gotta use so many napkins? And why don't we ever remember to say "no bean sprouts on the salad"? I mean, look at that. I've got 72 napkins and Ned/Rex only has his one fallopian tube napkin that he twists like that every time. What does this say about us? Actually, from this angle you can't tell his napkin is a fallopian tube. You'll have to trust me on this.
Really going now.