I really have nothing. My general existential ickiness isn't following the curve I was trying to bend it into. I did work out today, which is a small victory since I really felt like just sitting - which reminds me of an article I just read on how we should be making our kids move more and moving ourselves more other than just in small bursts of activity that we pay for, and I agreed with everything about the article except its title, which was "Sitting is Still Killing Our Kids", and that is so needlessly inflammatory and sensationalized and click-baitey it almost negates the good stuff in the article for me. I'm so sick of things being titled "Number Four Will Blow Your Mind!" and "Six Suppers Containing Spinach That Your Kids Will Devour!" and Some Really Clever Third Thing I Can't Think Of! You don't know my mind. You don't know my kids. Can we cut down on the titular hyperbole a tad?
I just opened my email and Etsy sent me a November Gift Guide. At the beginning was the same black linen sundress that is at the beginning of every Gift Guide I get from Etsy because I looked at it once, and apparently some algorithm has decided that I MUST HAVE IT. Dudes. It's November. Let it go.
But then I came to the miniatures. The miniatures. As Eve says "why is it that small things are so cute and perfect just because they're small?" Well, sweetie, partly so we don't abandon our kids on that mountainside where an eagle pecks out your liver when they turn two and learn the word 'no'.... but I digress. So geez, look at this shockingly realistic tiny roasted turkey so your dolls can have Thanksgiving dinner. And this unbelievably beautiful tiny lemon layer cake so your dolls can have a birthday party. And this pile of tiny wine bottles so your doll can go on a bender after her boyfriend leaves because he's sick of getting flak for putting his feet up on the tiny coffee table - she's better off, chances are he wasn't anatomically correct anyway. I couldn't find a tiny bottle of Maalox but fortunately there are myriad tiny toilets. Who knew dollhouse life could get so sordid?