It's her fault I went over to the Anne Geddes website.
Anne Geddes is one of those once-ubiquitous blights, like Laurel Burch, that come, blanket the earth with pestilence, and then, blessedly, depart. And then, like the rigors of childbirth, you forget all about them.
And OK, I admit I'm currently listening to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on CD, because I finally got around to cracking open the shrink wrap on my birthday present, now that my birthday is officially two months ago.
But this picture
really makes me think of the potted mandrakes from what--the Chamber of Secrets? As in, don't wake them up or their screeching will have your ears running blood?
And yet, people hang this sort of thing on their walls.
I just don't get it.
But if I have you remembering a time, not really all that long ago, when you couldn't walk into a department store without seeing Laurel Burch earrings and t-shirts and coffee mugs, and when every pediatrician's office was festooned with photographs of babies in watering cans or draped cunningly over fire extinguishers ... well, welcome to the HELL that is the SARGASSO SEA of my mind.
Where I am laughing at you. And wearing these earrings.
No wonder I drink.