My mother hates me
January 09, 2008 · Filed under: Personal. Photos.
My sister and I (right).
Be grateful that you can’t see the shoes.
I really would like to know what would compel my dear mother to dress my sister and I in this outrageous get up. Did she wake up one day and go, “Gee, I wonder if I can find an outfit out there that embodies shame, ridicule, and outright insanity”? The answer is yes, and she succeeded. But that wasn’t all. She then made my sister and I wear said outfits and took a picture of us to later haunt me.
There is absolutely no excuse for those outrageous bows, that collar, and that fabric. No. Excuse.
But that’s not what really gets me. What gets me is that I am smiling. Look very closely folks—that is the smile of blissful ignorance. That is the smile of a child who was brainwashed into thinking they could walk outside and not feel the least bit bad about it.
Too bad we can’t go back in time and edit our lives. I wish it was as simple as opening up Photoshop and going edit happy. For example in this picture I would’ve blurred out those stray aways covering up my fivehead and replacing that fabric, or better yet, smudging it to the point that it blends with the wall and no one else would have to see it. Ever. And then I’d probably clone my annoying little sister out entirely.
Kidding.
I’m thinking every single time my mother pisses me off I’ll bust out this picture. “Like your judgement means anything, mother. You thought this! *flashes picture* Was acceptable! Now excuse me while I go bathe in my tears.”
Maybe then she’d get off my back, and even feel a little pity for what I went through. Or even better: she would avoid talking to me altogether for fear of her obvious neglect being flashed in her face. I can dream okay.
Oh btw, I fixed some links in the Extra section (Hitler Khronicles was a bit off) and edited a few articles.