I trust you all had a happy St. Patrick’s Day. My mother had this bumper sticker on the car she drove for a thousand years (I think it had around only 35,000 miles on it when she got rid of it):
I would have sworn I had a picture she took of the car to show off the bumper sticker, but after looking through about thirty of her photo albums, I came up with nothing. However, I did stumble upon a photo of my brother when he was a young teenager. There’s nothing Irish about the shot unless you count David’s last name and my mother’s green curtains.
I think he looks very cool (sorry about the damaged photo). This is the age he was when my clearest memories of him begin. I kind of idolized him, even though he tormented me. It was his job as a big brother. He also looked out for me.
In the past I’ve taken embarrassing photos of Margot, Guinness, and some of their friends on St. Patrick’s Day. Sadly, they’ve done no posing today–though I suppose I could take a photo of them sleeping and pretend they’re passed out after drinking green beer.
Sugar, on the other hand… She’s spending the weekend with us, and I caught her hanging out with a new friend who brought her a bone.
Right after this photo was taken, he sold her to the Gypsies. You just can’t trust those leprechauns. Anyway, no need for you to pick her up Sunday night, Rhonda and Lindsey. She’s not here. Seriously.