says my father, wondering why the whole world has rolled their eyeballs. He insists on calling everything by its proper name, thinking that this will make him look hip and with it, you know? A Modern Man. Whereas a real modern man would slur "pass the goddam remote" from a lump on the Lay-z-boy. This from a family that broke its cordless phone years ago and has to run to catch the fax machine before its third ring. (And Laura sticks out her chin and claims that where she is from, they use delivery pigeons- what the hell is a cell phone?)
Anyways. Things are a-ok here. Except my 21 year old bro just moved back in because he can't find a job and can no longer afford rent. My mum has taken this opportunity to employ him in every odd-job that has gone undone basically since we moved here. Today he washed windows.
Anyways I knitted 13 rows (73 stiches each) of a tuque today. And I looked up the lineup for The Big Time Out and promptly peed my pants. Chez: You need to come home
