British Invasion

The past weekend was spent in admiration of a bunch of pasty limeys from across the pond. Miss H. spent several hours doing a critical analysis of the Harry Potter museum display. We were supposed to call her Hermione as soon as she robed up. She was brimming with Hermione-like tidbits of information, chock full of all the aloof disgust which may be conjured from a seven-year-old Harry Potter snob.

Among these useful facts, including but not limited to (been talkin to my lawyer):

• "Oh my Gosh. The stool with the sorting hat has four legs, and in the book it was defiantly a 3 legged stool." nose up, hair flip, sniff. Blasphemy!
• "I'm POSITIVE that Harry wore green robes to the dance not black, and Hermione wore a blue dress with her hair up, NOT a this pink rag on display!" utter disgust, the horror.
• "Dobby is nekid! He's not wearing his dirty pillow case."
• gave a full tour of the Weasly twins' novelty toys to a bunch of old ladies from the burbs, I almost had to take one of those old girls out when she started yammering about one of the Weaslys kickin' in the last book cause Miss has not read that one yet.

She had a trivia contest with a curator who was wearing my favorite hairdo, the backwards mullet! Yes she stumped the little cream puff, but for what? Is there a scholarship here? I want to retire and live off my kid's labors; maybe they could have "Harry Potter Jeopardy" game?

Part II of the Brit invasion: Mrs. Bunker goes to a concert!! That's right, set yerself down, because Archie let me out for an evening of whorin' around! Actually, I kept my shirt on, didn't get carded (sad), and was tucked into my starched sheets by 11. Everyone should start listening to the band Keane immediately, because they are very good with some dreary dirges which are right up my alley. Good fun, I even had a beer which gave me a full on buzz, one more & I would've been snogging with a roadie, just like the good old days..