Pictures From The Crypt Lagoon

Hmmmm? What? You thought that you were safe? You thought that there couldn't possibly be any more pictures from the crypt that were lurking to make your knees all wobbly and want to carry you screaming into the night. Of course there are more pictures!!! I grew up in a family where the camera was always at the ready. This is like a never ending 1950's horror movie where something is always just around the bend and we all look like this...

I really did have other things to talk about today (oh don't I always) but they can always wait for another day because I just felt like doing this....and it is my blog so I can......neener, neener, neener. This was my dog when I was growing up. Her name was Gretchen which now seems an odd name for a dog but whatever. When we got her she needed to be registered with the Kennel Club cuz, you know, we were such a high falutin' family (NOT). My dad had the idea that we should register her as....Gretchen das Vee en Pooper. I am still laughing at that and it is 40 years later. But the kennnel club has no sense of humor and wouldn't let us. Poopers. Gretchen had a hate hate relationship with the mail coming through the slot. I believe she ate the mortgage book once.

"Give me food imbecile! Get rid of that other animal in the house! Do my bidding NOW or I will screech as only a Siamese cat can do until you do!!!" Ah yes, this is Samantha the Siamese (another dubious name for an animal, I had no imagination). She was MY cat, MINE I TELL YOU! But she loved Pilot Man better. She slept at Pilot Man's feet...under the covers....and if that isn't love I don't know what is.

Isn't this how it should be, with the cat on her royal pillow and the dog at her feet, or really her hiney. I said hiney, I am sorry. I don't know what came over me. I love the look on the dog's face. Sort of, "Oh I hope that this cat doesn't do anything." And the cat is most likely planning some diabolical scheme involving bad air coming from certainly places. I don't want to say where because, you know, this is a family blog.

Oh what was I thinking? White knee socks? Really? And didn't anyone tell me not to stand with my feet apart like a pregnant woman about to give birth? And yet again, Pilot Man dazzles us with the wildly patterned pants. I believe that I was about to enter the awkward, "I won't smile and you can't make me" phase of life. It doesn't help that I am standing next to my friend, Brenda, who was tall and willowy and athletic and....why am I her friend?

Nope, not smiling. Love the white collar flaring out under the sweater.

Still not smiling.

Nary a smile in sight, and isn't that a pose that just screams adolescent angst.

Oh yeah, no smile here. And get a load of the buffoons behind me. They just scream NERD! Also, it would seem that I have no ability to brush my hair. This may have been the time when I decided that I just wouldn't be bothered with washing my hair except perhaps once a week. I still shudder at the thought.

What is with the muffin on my head? Am I trying out for a part in The King and I? I can see putting that little bun thing at the back of my head but on the top? Really? And the little curls at the side of my head! Channeling my inner Hasidic jewish person. I was just a fashion disaster all around. An animal feeding fashion disaster. Sigh.

And so, as another day dawns here at Chez Knitter and I watch the Hummingbirds attack each other, we close this chapter of Pictures from the Crypt. Until next time BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA and neener, neener, neener.