I received this cunning little sketch last week, and it has been sitting on my bedside table while I decide its fate. To scrapbook, or not to scrapbook? To consign to the bottom of the dustbin, or to frame and display in the front hallway? To deconstruct as artifact of postmodern motherhood, or to roll eyes at and discard?
A fistful of Smarties to anyone who can tell me what it is, or at least make some outrageously funny suggestion so that I can appropriate the narrative of this sketch and reframe it into something that won’t keep me awake at night. Which, yes, is a hint.
(It’s two sketches, actually. The scribble below the fold is a separate image, scrawled with a flourish to underscore a point about the main image, above the fold.)