One moment, the foobs were in a teal-and-lavender monstrosity of a wedding, and the next they were propelled back into the past. But it was a different version of the past. What happened?
Friday, January 30, 2009
That's why the housework can wait....
Eee, I didn't realize how mucked up Elly's left hand in the first panel was, but it is waaaay past my bedtime already, and besides, I've found plenty of mucked up hands in the collections. Homage! ;)
And this, as I keep saying, is exactly why John used to ask Elly what she does all day. It took him years to figure out that she was not, as he originally thought, exaggerating; the simple act of observing her obsessively tidying up made him change his tune and think of getting a smaller house in the hopes that she would actually have free time.
Well, John didn't really interrupt anything here, except for Elly's sad attempt to spill over-the-top purple prose about a room on to a piece of paper in a sad, vain attempt to impress someone with her powers of observation.
As if Elly ever notices anything about a room besides the number of dust motes or grains of dirt on the window sill it contains.
Well, John didn't really interrupt anything here, except for Elly's sad attempt to spill over-the-top purple prose about a room on to a piece of paper in a sad, vain attempt to impress someone with her powers of observation.
Yup--like mother, like son. There's a strip where she tries to wax poetic about the beauty of the snow outside, and John comments that he has to drive in it.
At least we now know the origins of Elly's belief that Mike has talent. She sees in him exactly the same level of ability she had, but was unable to express fully because of the demands of obsessive housekeeping.
I don't think there's anything wrong with Elly's hand: it's just a bit swollen and misshapen from overuse polishing the snowflakes in the front yard.
At least we now know the origins of Elly's belief that Mike has talent. She sees in him exactly the same level of ability she had, but was unable to express fully because of the demands of obsessive housekeeping.
I know. I also vaguely remember the poems that she did manage to both write and have published. It was bad enough that she presented cleaning house and raising children as some sort of bleak tragedy without undluging in the same sort of crinkum-crankum that Mike calls a crisp prose style. To paraphrase Mencken, her style is both pish and posh, flap and doodle and balder and dash.
I know it's little late for this thread, but I just noticed-- what's that weird thing on Elly's face, just before John comes in? It almost looks like....could it be...the slightest hint of...a SMILE?
11 comments:
And this, as I keep saying, is exactly why John used to ask Elly what she does all day. It took him years to figure out that she was not, as he originally thought, exaggerating; the simple act of observing her obsessively tidying up made him change his tune and think of getting a smaller house in the hopes that she would actually have free time.
Yup, it's kind of sad--or would be if she were less annoying about it all.
Well, John didn't really interrupt anything here, except for Elly's sad attempt to spill over-the-top purple prose about a room on to a piece of paper in a sad, vain attempt to impress someone with her powers of observation.
As if Elly ever notices anything about a room besides the number of dust motes or grains of dirt on the window sill it contains.
Well, John didn't really interrupt anything here, except for Elly's sad attempt to spill over-the-top purple prose about a room on to a piece of paper in a sad, vain attempt to impress someone with her powers of observation.
Yup--like mother, like son. There's a strip where she tries to wax poetic about the beauty of the snow outside, and John comments that he has to drive in it.
I hate it when you make me feel bad for Elly! :)
At least we now know the origins of Elly's belief that Mike has talent. She sees in him exactly the same level of ability she had, but was unable to express fully because of the demands of obsessive housekeeping.
I don't think there's anything wrong with Elly's hand: it's just a bit swollen and misshapen from overuse polishing the snowflakes in the front yard.
I hate it when you make me feel bad for Elly! :)
Sorry about that, Cedar. Rest assured that future installments will inspire contempt. :)
I don't think there's anything wrong with Elly's hand: it's just a bit swollen and misshapen from overuse polishing the snowflakes in the front yard.
forworse, you're hired as my PR person. I'll be yours if you need one. :)
forworse,
At least we now know the origins of Elly's belief that Mike has talent. She sees in him exactly the same level of ability she had, but was unable to express fully because of the demands of obsessive housekeeping.
I know. I also vaguely remember the poems that she did manage to both write and have published. It was bad enough that she presented cleaning house and raising children as some sort of bleak tragedy without undluging in the same sort of crinkum-crankum that Mike calls a crisp prose style. To paraphrase Mencken, her style is both pish and posh, flap and doodle and balder and dash.
I know it's little late for this thread, but I just noticed-- what's that weird thing on Elly's face, just before John comes in? It almost looks like....could it be...the slightest hint of...a SMILE?
No way. This is Elly, after all. Must be gas.
No way. This is Elly, after all. Must be gas.
::snerk::
It's funny you should flag that--when I was drawing her smiling, it felt a little strange to do so. :)
It looks about as natural as a fish on a bicycle. I think that if Elly ever actually did smile, her face would snap in two.
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