Kiddie Whorehouse Child's Play

It doesn't take much stress to get me cussing hard enough to send bars full of Marines running for the safety of their preachers. My curses tend to be even meaner when I succeed in keeping all taboo words out of the curses. Trust me, Preacher, the Bible has plenty of graphic imagary I can play off of while under the influence of psychosis. The taboo words keep it far cleaner than forcing me to express my frustrations in socially acceptable vernacular. Let a father fuck be a father fuck. Shame on you if you have a socially acceptable vocabulary set for that one. I didn't *choose* the need to deal with the psychopations of father fucking, but here I am with no desire to wrap ^it^ in ribbons and bows. That's my father's avocation. I doesn't want the inheritance.

I made a robe for Hubs yesterday. He is suffering a truly miserable rash which is being aggravated by even the softest of waistbands and inseams. He is a BIG dude, even without the steak belly, and buying clothes off the rack is somewhere between impossible and outrageously expensive. In today's market, homemade clothes are far more expensive for average sized people, such as myself. In his case, we save honest money when I make his clothes and he has the rare treat of clothes that actually fit his unique shapes comfortably. He hasn't had a robe that fit him comfortably since Junior High School. That fact had escaped notice from either one of us until this rash started plaguing him.

We discussed YS's moving dilemma, along with the rest of the Middle-Aged Child drama at the Urban Homestead while I sewed. Yup, you guessed it. The compulsive curses kept popping out quicker than a needle through fabric. Hubs looked more than a bit disconcerted at the combination of crude curses over a stigmatically feminine passtime. It was a first for him, but he's had 38 years to adapt to my creative psycho-ticks.

As I watch the red fade from the sunrise outside my window and wonder where all this is going, I find myself thinking I want to improve on the design of the robe I made yesterday. Despite the clear blue sky surrounding the red glow, it's too cold to continue the caulking on the honey barn. Hubs has volunteered to field the yaddahs of YS's eviction drama. We see what grows and sews.