It has been a while since I have dredged up some Pictures From the Crypt. I am sure that you thought the threat was passed. That life had returned to normal and that you didn’t have to fear the intrusion into your life of my weird growing up years in pictures.
There are more of these. Be afraid.
What you have to know about this picture is that, perhaps, the dog was a better piano player than I was. That is certainly the impression that I get by the look on my face. And why the piano teacher, who made us wash our hands before we touched her piano, was allowing the DOG to put it’s paws on the piano is still a mystery to me.
Even at a young age I was sportsily challenged. I gave it my best effort. I learned to slalom ski. I learned to snow ski. I can still be talked into inner tubing behind the boat at my advanced age. But I am always going to look like a duck on qualudes while I am doing it. To my everlasting disappointment.
And Dad……LOVE the yellow shirt and brown tie.
This lovely science project, for which I actually got an undeservedly good grade, is what happens when you put the thing off until the last minute……the last day….the last NIGHT. And this was before Al Gore invented the internet so I actually had to do research with, like, BOOKS and ENCYCLOPEDIAS and going to the library and using the card catalog. Do you even remember what the card catalog is?
And I won’t even tell you about the science project that I left to the last minute which involved growing crystals. Do you know that you can grow crystals in an exceedingly fast amount of time? And if your father happens to be a doctor with his very own, really cool microscope that you can haul to school. Then you are golden. Even if the teacher has to know that you did a half assed job. Sorry, I said ass.
Or maybe not. I don’t want to scare you too much.
Oh Gretchen of Relsma (her actual name), you were such a good dog. Why we made you do things like this, things that were obviously a blow to your doggie dignity, I will never know. Of course, we didn’t start out the relationship very well. We REALLY wanted to name you Gretchen das Vee en Pooper. Say that really slowly and you will get it. But for some reason the American Kennel Club didn’t want to let us do that.
I don’t understand why?
Nancy, are we standing in a hole or something? And has no one ever introduced me to the concept of brushing my hair? And can Jr. Hi. Marching Band members be anything other than awkward? I don’t think so.
Hello, my name is Debbie and I am going through my early grunge phase. And I am not sure that I have washed my hair that day…..or that week for that matter.
You can’t believe how much oil you can get out of your hair with the judicious application of baby powder.
Or you just wear a bandana.
The internationally acclaimed band…..
Singing their platinum hit….. “I’d Rather Go Hungry!”
You know, on repeat examination of this picture I am not sure whether it is me…..
or Pilot Man.
Hey, remind me to tell you guys sometime what happens when you are on vacation, you have car trouble, your dad has his head under the hood of the car and your brother has the great idea to lay on the horn.
My palms get sweaty just thinking about it.
And can someone tell me why I am wearing this outfit?