Okay. So that's me on the right (looking remarkably like a strawberry-blond Violet) and that's my sister in the diaper (looking like a baby boy) and that's my Dad. I know, I know. You were thinking Paul McCartney, but I assure you, it's my Dad.
Anywho... This post is not about how ridiculously cute I am in my 1970s running apparel. No, it's about the couch. You see, if you were to swap out tiny me for full-size me (ditto for my sister and Dad) the photo would look EXACTLY the same. Well, maybe that pillow wouldn't be there and my sister probably would NOT sit in Dad's lap, but you get my meaning. This couch and that tastefully off-white wall color have not changed in thirty years. In fact, the orange velvet couch hasn't aged a bit. My Grandmother has toyed with the idea of getting rid of it for as long as I can remember, but dammit if that couch doesn't refuse to wear out. Not that I want it to go away. Quite to the contrary. While I may be a champion of change in the world at large or even in my own house, I do not approve of change at Grandma's house. When the marbled, orange, shag carpeting that once sat beneath this very couch gave it's last dusty breath, I insisted on getting a souvenir hunk. I framed it. Come over some time and I'll show it to you.
Some things just never go out of style.
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