Monday, August 07, 2017

Things I'm not supposed to be openly, joyously, effusively thrilled about: 

My dad broke one of our ugly-since-the-day-we-bought-them, instant-'70s-cultural-albatross, more-clichéd-than-gingham-ruffles-and-fresh-popovers, Revolutionary-War-faux-pottery-kitch, avoid-emptying-the-dishwasher-because-they're-so-frustratingly-unstackable, if-they're-truly-hand-painted-it-happened-in-a-bunkered-Asian-sweatshop, Pfaltzgraff-Yorktowne-with-a-stupid-extra-Olde-Englishe-e-on-the-end-because-maybe-they-really-WERE-from-the-Revolutionary-War-so-OH-MY-GOD-don't-ever-break-them dishes. And if he continues to break just one more dish each day from now on, maybe we can finally AFTER 40 CULINARILY MORTIFYING YEARS replace them with something that doesn't come with dramatic visual and romanticized faux-historical baggage and then we can finally eat like we live in 2018 by the time we actually get to 2018.

Two caveats:
1. The corn-on-the-cob dishes are textured LIKE REAL CORN, and contextual tablewear is essential to a harmonious and visually felicitous domicile.
2. The commemorative Bicentennial salt and pepper shakers LOOK LIKE LITTLE LIBERTY BELLS and they're strikingly realistic BECAUSE THEY EVEN HAVE LITTLE PRETEND CRACKS IN THEM and if Dad so much as looks at one of them when he's on one of his clumsy, dish-breaking tirades so help me he'll WISH he'd died of dysentery after being kicked in the head by Paul Revere's horse in the epic Battlee of Yorktowne.

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