On certain days, I feel the need to put a disclaimer on the top of my post that says like, “I am aware of global and Texan events” so that I don’t seem oblivious? But absolutely nobody needs to hear me opine on these things! So anyway: I know what’s going on and am as horrified as anybody, but in this space, I talk about my life’s daily minutiae (except for on the two days per year when I actually have the mental energy to rant at least semi-coherently about reproductive rights in Texas because that is something I actually do know enough about to speak).
That said, my mother recently brought our old photographs over to this house and I was looking through them. Everyone has started to say that Edith looks just like me, and while I don’t really see it, I must admit that my baby pictures are a dead ringer for my daughter. If you have ever wondered what Edith looks like, she looks just like this:
One difference is that in this picture, I am sitting on a couch (where I would remain for the next 40 years). Edith, in contrast, doesn’t sit at all. If this were a picture of Edith, it would be a blur, or a pair of feet kicked up at the bottom of the frame.
Accismus 