My mother is not right.

By not right, I don't necessarily mean that she is wrong, but that she is off. Twisted. She's just. Not. Right.

My dad just sent me a new digital camera to play with. He has a collection of cameras going back about 70 years, and it is a hobby he will never put down. Sometimes I am surprised he has gone digital. I asked him if he had an extra cheapy digital camera because I wanted something I could throw in my bag for yarnporn pics on the fly. I figured if I was lucky and he was willing to part with a camera, any camera, I might get his oldest low rent dicital. The one he sent is 6.3 megapixel. Sweet!

Of course my mom had to customize the box with a blast from the past photo. I am pretty sure I made that skirt and matching vest ensemble. And since my dad is wearing his good sweater that was likely an Easter Sunday shot because back in the day, his non-practicing Jewish ass didn't otherwise go to church. I'm estimating Easter 1978 or 9.

Most recently the pics she has sent have been more of the baby variety. I like those. I like this one, too, because if you can't laugh at yourself you're in serious trouble. Sifting through high school photos is a laugh a minute. I still say she's not right.