They get an obscene amount of satisfaction from consuming both food and their own twisted humor.
These pics were taken just a few minutes after The Stylist informed me my middle button had popped open while ordering a milkshake and Greek sweets at a cafe and I'd been walking around like that for an hour.
She looked all misty-eyed as she said, "sorry I knew there was something I was supposed to tell you but I forgot what it was".
I think she was holding back tears of laughter.
Bless.
Earlier today, I thought I'd try out full-size false eyelashes. I forgot to let my liquid liner dry first so it got a bit smudged, but as I write this 11 hours later, they're still firmly planted on and fluttering away like mad.
What a god damn fricken hero huh?
Gosh, I'll be representing the United Nations next.
Yes they're rather spectacular aren't they?
Scrumptious Tamera of Menopausal Supermodel sent them to me in a parcel of joy, which arrived today after a wee stop over at Australian Quarantine.
I'm still giggling at the thought of Quarantine officers opening the package expecting to find some exotic American fauna only to discover a pair of Trollz.
Tamera also sent me lightning bolt and star earrings, a beautiful brooch and two bright scarves, including one printed with Australian wildflowers.
Fancy that, all the way from Maryland, USA!
Thank you so much dear woman xx.
Oh dear, what a shame.
As you can see we're in the thick of a typical Brisbane winter in all its freezing misery.
Yet another "optical illusion" is the fact The Stylist can now call her older brother her little brother even though he's 19 months her senior.
Oh the pain for the poor lad!
Number One Son recommends an arm wrestle to re-establish the correct pecking order but looking at all those skinny limbs, I'm not sure it will necessarily work out in the wee laddie's favour.
The above pic of me is at the end of the day and you can see I desperately need to study the insides of my eyelids.
Woody Allen's books are getting hard to find, so are 1960s purses and bags, and the cute cotton apron says "Frae Bonnie Scotland".
It has a hole in the peplum but I really couldn't give a shite about imperfections.
In fact, rips, tears, any flaws at all, highlight the beauty of a piece and affirms my belief that frocks are living, breathing beings with delicate feelings and need as much love if not more, as perfect princess gowns that cost a god damn fortune.
I'm pretty sure the dead animals hanging around my neck once had feelings too.
Oh well, they get a lot of love from me too.