"Shut up, Grandma, we're playing with an evil doll!"

I have been downright crabby lately. I snap at my children, elderly drivers, and neighborhood kids going door-to-door for the American Heart Association.

"Don't you think you ought to lose the Snickers bar and Big Gulp when you're canvassing for health-related donations?" I asked while sipping wine. "Christ on his throne, that high fructose corn syrup will cost you more than I have in my savings account!"

Why am I so crabby?

Well.

A purple crayon found its way into the washer and dryer. I realized this *after* the entire load of laundry was ruined and my mom's dryer permanently caked with purple marks.

Good times.

Cold weather, mood swings, desertion and a blood disorder threatens to turn me into Winona Ryder from Beetlejuice.



But I look good in black so it ain't all bad.

I'm seriously considering a tattoo - inked across my face - with pretty spiral lettering that spells out: Use your inside voice and walking feet and for the love of Christ close your mouth when you chew that g*ddamn sushi!

Told you. Downright crabby.

I'm driving home yesterday behind a ninety year-old blind woman when Cowhead's show interrupted my homicidal imaginings.

Nothing makes me laugh like Satanic children's toys.

Check it.



All I have to do is picture midwestern, God-fearing mamas all up in arms over this doll and I start giggling like a schoolgirl who just discovered her life-size Yosemite Sam toy has special powers when played with at night behind a closed door.

If I find the doll in Target this weekend, it's going in my cart.

'Cause these days, a smile is a smile. No matter where it comes from.