memememememememe - say it fast

So... my first "meme"! Thanks Nen. No really...

"Meme" is one of those words that:

1. I'm pretty sure is a made-up word
2. I've seen kicking around long enough and in enough contexts to (hopefully) comfortably use it without fear of coming off as an asshat (Ha! I finally get to use that word!)
3. If you say it enough, stops sounding like a word (except that it never did, so there's an endless loop for you)
4. I still have to use " " for.

The mission, should you chose to accept it:

• Go to your Sixth Picture Folder (online or on your hard drive, wherever) then pick your Sixth Picture;
• Either (a) hope that you remember the details; (b) make up something believable; (c) some hybrid of the two;
• Tag 5 others. I don't know five others that wouldn't say "who the hell is this? goddam Internets... that's what I get for putting myself out there" (except Nen, who did this already. I'm pretty sure there's a "no tagbacks!" rule), so I'm just skipping that part for today.

So here's mine.

Honest! I know it looks like I hand picked it, but no! OK, maybe. It seems that it's an impossible thing to give absolute rules for. I mean, is it *absolutely* the sixth folder? or the sixth that actually has photos in it (I have mine organized in sub-folders of sub-folders - it's complicated)? There are any number of ways this could have turned out.

So anyway, this one is of Norah & Pepper at nearly three-years, and five-months respectively. It's hard to believe they were ever that small. And that they ever sat together long enough to get a snap of without one in the other's headlock. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I was hovering pretty tight. That Pepper had a good right-jab from pretty early on. Got several in the eye, she did.

As I was "finding" this photo they both (all three actually) were annoyingly hovering around the computer (another in the long list of things that has made makes me nuts).

After establishing who was in the photo, and then a chorus of "awwww":

Pepper: "That was our old ratty couch"

Norah: "It wasn't ratty then."

Me: "Yes, I'm afraid it was always ratty." (we bought it used from someone in our apartment building to replace an even rattier one, with the intention of deferring a new one for a year or so. About eight years and a house later, Max & I simultaneously said "FUCK THIS IS UGLY" and I went shopping. Not that the replacement is Better Homes & Gardens quality or anything, but it's not that piece of stellar crap).

Norah: "well, it was less ratty than it is now."

Me: "Yes, I suppose, since now it's in the dump and has been there for nearly two years, that you are correct" (remind me sometime to post on the bizzare, designated-garbage-only, cleptos that will take anything - with the exception of these couches - around this neighbourhood)

One of the things that makes me bolt up in the middle of the night sweating (no, no. Not THAT. That's another post under a different alias, and one you'll never decipher), is the fear that our dear first-born will become a lawyer and/or politician. She has always (and I mean always) had the tendency to (a) not answer the question asked, but select a better, more answerable one; (b) need to be correct, even if history needs to be massaged ever so slightly to make it so. Her downfall will be her inability to outright lie.

That's what gets me back to sleep at night.