I had nothing pressing tonight except for about six weeks’ worth of housework (and everyone knows that doing housework on Friday nights is practically illegal), so I decided it would be a great day to bust out my scrapbooks and play the “who-does-my-daughter-look-like” game.
It’s all in the eyelids.
For the record, that’s me, circa early 1979.
As I looked through my scrapbooks tonight I determined within myself that while I cannot do anything to change her genetic structure, I can at least do my very best to protect her from, well, this:
There’s just so much there I don’t even know where to start. The mullet? The long wavy hair in the back (thanks to sleeping in braids)? The rocking glasses? The ruffles?
And of course, there’s this one–
If I ever so much as see her looking at shoulder pads or Sally Jesse Raphael glasses, I will lock her in her closet until she forsakes her foolish ways. And let’s not even discuss the scarf. Can I point out that in this picture I was eleven? The good news is that once you hit a certain low, you can only go up.
I keep waiting to hit bottom.
Have a great weekend, everyone.