my judge escaped

So I called in another judge. Literally. Dragged her out of her car where she was waiting to haul us both off to exercise.

"Look," I said, and showed her the picture.
"Listen," I said, and read the entries.

She liked them all, and I expect she wished I'd gone across the street and nabbed the Republican** as judge.

At last she picked LYNN'S. Yay LYNN! You now have Bosnian Socks. I just need to send them to you. Email me your address (again, please). Thanks!


**After all, he is the Arbiter of Good Taste on our block. Both husband and wife are, but the husband is on the board of the town's historic preservation committee bushwa, thingy. Whatever

They are extremely New England Tasteful and are all about proper restoration and subdued good taste. They used to make snarky remarks about my kids' toys in our yard. So one night I planted two pink flamingos on their front lawn with a bad taste manifesto attached to them. I told the neighbors that if they took down the flamingos, we suburban terrrists would escalate our attacks next on the list: a toilet made into a planter. They kept the flamingos up for weeks, and another neighbor put santa caps on them. The flamingos, not the Republicans. Have I ever mentioned how much I love my neighbors, every last one of them? Except the ones with the dogs from hell.


  1. My feet are freezing today, so the prize is much appreciated. I've never actually won a blog contest before this one, either. :) Thank you, Miss Judge and Miss Kate.


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