Sometimes I think that God, being the sociopathic prankster he is, tosses things in my path that are just large enough to get under my skin and just small enough to feel guilty for my skin to have been gotten under. Such a thing is the word “mompreneur”. Granted, there is no need for Dante’s body to be exhumed and restored to life in some science-fictiony way so that he can get back to work and create a new level of Hell, but still...maybe it’s the visual image this work evokes in my misguidedly feverish brain: cupcakes!
We’re down to the last three binary days of the century, and does anyone care? No, he or she does not! (Man, I hate grammar sometimes.) It’s 11.01.11, people! The end times approach! And none too soon, if you ask me. I think it’s about time to wrap things up. And if we could do this thing before my next Estimated Quarterly Tax comes due, it would be much appreciated. Nuff said.
Well, not quite nuff. I want to make sure you know that I know that the above sketches are not my very best work. Because if you thought that I thought that they were, well, that would be embarrassing. I know I’m capable of better than this, just not tonight. And maybe tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next, and on and on until the last syllable of recorded time. Which, I repeat for you footmen who have been too busy snickering to pay full attention, can’t come too soon for me.