(no subject)

...so anyway. Mom sent me out for an aloe plant. She is now slowly torturing it to death and smearing its innocent juices on her foot. She says it's helping. Then asks me to look at her foot. It is not, by any means, the most horrible old lady foot ever, but in my head it's a monkey's paw with a used condom glued to the pad. Rub my bunions, Bart!

*twitch*

She keeps asking why I'm so tense. She says she does not find my expression of upset at setting bits of the house alight and maiming her to be sufficient explanation. Surely she's messing with me. *twitch*

Meanwhile, White Bear has adopted an extraordinary costume consisting of a lady's stretch camisole and the collar of one of my old semi-Hawaiian shirts. She insists that her name is now Lord Morbius.

I have started working on an old Ideal teddy from the sixties. I stitched its loose ears, and was able to mend its claws* with nearly all its original thread. The fur is proving difficult, but I think it's because I haven't found the correct brush yet. Perhaps a pet store.

_{*Bear repair book refers to the stitched lines on a bear's paws as 'claws.' I always thought they were meant to indicate the divisions between toes.}