Where's MY Trophy?

I recently purchased this apron declaring, "Mom's a Winner" with a picture of a woman holding a trophy (it has faded a bit). I'm trying to imagine my own mother's reaction if we'd presented her with this as a gift. Somehow, I suspect it might not have gone over too well. Aprons are a risky gift unless you're certain the recipient wouldn't be insulted.

Of course, if you cook and care about your clothes it is best to wear an apron. Curry+nice clothes=disaster. For me anyway, because I'm a slob. My mother didn't cook much (mercifully) so she didn't require aprons. 

Between us? My mother didn't clean either, so she hired someone else to do it. Good thing too, or the house might have fallen down. But shhhh, don't tell anyone. I don't mean that as an insult-she was good at other things. If there was a trophy for getting your paintbrushes clean, she'd have won it. To this day I've yet to run across a painter that maintains even their most expensive sable brushes the way mum did. Today, we'd probably give it a diagnosis as some sort of disorder, but my goodness, those brushes were better cared for than we were. 

I really didn't know how to cook, clean, or look after myself when I was out on my own. Mr ETB had to endure a rather steep learning curve as far as cooking and laundry were concerned, but after about 25 years I got the hang of it. Perhaps he deserves the trophy. Living on a a farm forces you to cook as there's no take away, and trips to town for supplies were rare. This blog is a scrapbook of sorts from my first pies to making a goose confit. I started the blog as a collection of recipes for my son as he grew up, but I never expected anyone else would want to read it. That people keep coming back here year after year, and that I've formed wonderful friendships is really the best. That's better than a trophy. 

Which is all a long way of saying (once again) that the mirror is dirty. Sigh. I cleaned it yesterday. I think I'm going to conduct toothpaste-spitting lessons where they will practise aiming for the basin instead of the mirror. Until then, we'll have to use our imaginations and pretend this is a clean mirror. 

Ooops, sorry! you caught me having a Jane Russell moment there while I was daydreaming about a mirror that isn't spotted with toothpaste and shaving lotion. Oooh, the glamour!

Outfit Particulars:

Skirt-Goodwill

Cashmere short-sleeved sweater-Marshall Field's, 1980's

Acrylic Designer's Original's Cardigan-Probably Jordan Marsh, 90's

Necklace-Yard sale

Earrings-Yard sale

Brooches on cardigan-both New Life Thrift

Bracelet-New Life Thrift

Yellow tights-Walgreen's

Vintage handbag-Goodwill

Fragrance-Ruffles (I smell the 80's!)

 Nothing like a good wipe-clean vinyl bag.

 Can't wear a cat without a mouse. The cat's tail moves.

 The locket on the bracelet opens, but I haven't put in a photo yet. I'm trying to think of something/someone wildly inappropriate so I can horrify anyone that asks if it opens.

In May it will be thirteen years of Eat The Blog. Maybe (fingers crossed) I'll get the mirror sparkling by then.