I’ve been experiencing a bit of burnout lately, and for that, I apologize. You can blame that for the less-than-frequent (and less-than-stellar) updates.
If you’re a regular reader, and much love to both of you, and have been disappointed, you’re not alone: My mother is positively livid, mostly because she looks to the Smash for a major source of her press. It’s fair enough. People ask about her when she doesn’t make frequent enough appearances on this here blog.
Anyway, for those of you who are wondering, my mother is having a midlife crisis. She’s lost 17 pounds and she just got a tattoo on her ankle. It’s a shamrock, and I haven’t seen it yet, but I hear it’s cute, despite the fact that my father has taken to calling it the Green Hole. As in, “How’s the Green Hole? Is it healing?”
This means, BTW, that Ma Smash weighs the same as I do and has the same number of tattoos. Although, mine is on my lower back, and it’s an art nouveau thingie that points to my butt, in case I lose it. I’m told that this is called a tramp stamp, and I’m so, so glad that Mum didn’t get that one.