Okay, folks. It’s about to get serious up in here. I have to do this at least once a year, so please bear with me.
We aren’t going to critique this interior, although we could and it would be good times for all both of us because it’s bad interesting. I had a cousin named PeeWee (for real), and this photo was taken at his cabin in the mountains. There is so much going on in this room (in PeeWee’s defense, it was the 80’s), that I had to make the photo black and white so that I wasn’t distracted from the subject at hand.
These two: Two of my mother’s five sisters, one older, one younger. Gone. Gone. Sometimes-I-can-hardly-bear-it, gone.
Baby Sister was calculating something–I don’t know what–but it must have been funny. It surely wasn’t time. That is the one thing these two didn’t have enough of, time.
September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month. Did you know that? I didn’t think so. Ovaries aren’t as glamorous as boobies. Really. They aren’t. Have you ever heard anyone say, “Did you see the ovaries on that chick?” No. No, you haven’t.
Ovarian cancer is mean. It’s sneaky. It’s snarky. It is cruel. So, because I’m about to cry all over my computer and I don’t think there’s an app for that, here’s what you need to know.
Make it big and read it all the way through: