Just once, just once in my life, I want to go to strip wallpaper and discover I’m dealing with the nice strippable vinyl stuff, where all you have to do is pull it down and wash the wall, and you don’t have to screw around with DIF and paper scorers and sponges and splatter and scrapers and all the rest of it.
Kate calls this “dentist office wallpaper.” I think she’s got that about right. The burgundy in it matches the paint in the dining room and the green in it matches the paint in the living room, and all the colors are found upstairs, too. You’ve heard of bed in a bag? This was house in a bag.
Not that I am complaining. About the colors, anyway.
Here’s something I never thought I’d say: Good for Lynndie England. She may still go to some female version of military prison, she may have given birth to the antichrist, she may spend the rest of her sad little life unredeemed, but by God, if she can grab a couple of officers to take with her as she falls through the trap door, you gotta love that. I’ve been worried about her since I saw a photo of her walking with her “defense team,” which looks like it accidentally picked up a few comfort women along the way.
And I take back what I said about the baby. He’s pretty cute, and I’m sure has no 666 markings anywhere on his body.
Speaking of babies, you’ll have to sit through an ad to enjoy the whole of Jennifer Allen’s essay on raising boys, but if you have more than one — and yes, I mean you, Deb — you’ll want to read it. It’s a scream, and tender at the same time. Quite the trick. Go figure.