August 14th, 2009
|jimbojones||11:42 am - a freak of culture, like a white girl with cornrows|
So, the wife and I came home with another box of hand-me-down baby clothes, sized six months bigger than the last time.
Janis's role in this is to sift through the hand-me-downs and sort them into piles of "wrong size", "too stained", "nothing irrevocably wrong with these", and "hey I kinda like this one." My job is to look on, horrified, and advocate burning the entire lot of them.
One of the little 6-month size shirts this go-round had paired strawberries over the left breast, captioned "Berries" in large cursive text underneath them. Y'know, just in case some onlooker is simultaneously incapable of identifying a strawberry yet capable of reading English.
Wife: This one?
Me: Strawberry, strawberry was the neighborhood ho.
Wife: I don't know why they have to put writing on these.
Me: Yo E, she's a berry, let's run a train / Man, I wouldn't touch that bitch / Me neither, ho go home and wash out your beaver.
Wife: Well, I guess that's a "no" then.
I guess we can add "doesn't listen to NWA" to "has never seen the internet" when listing the qualities of people who make infant clothing.