So I had lunch with my Favorite Parents today. My Favorite Mother pretends to be mildly interested in my "online shenanigans", but mostly she is concerned I will either Cause Shame to the Family (too late for that, Mom!) or "Wind Up In Some Sort Of Legal Trouble Like Last Time". Which, as much as I explain for the umpteenth time that *I* was not the one in legal trouble, but instead very peripherally involved in a sting operation put on by some friends that eventually morphed into a Federal cyberstalking case.

(My sole involvement entailed writing a hysterically bad and downright offensive and utterly un-publishable book proposal to a bogus literary agency to prove they were bogus. Several of my writer friends wrote similar horrible, horrible things, but for some reason the Feds focused on my submission and that's the one that got all the press and became "Exhibit A" for the prosecutor's case. If you are at all interested in pursuing this further (and why should you) just do a Google search for the name "Kiki Rothschild" and wherever you see "Kiki" think "Mojo", for that's what I wrote, I'm ashamed to admit. And I apologize in advance for how offensive it is--it was actually an homage to Mel Brooks and "The Producers", meaning it was meant to be Very Bad and Offensive, so anyone who saw it would instantly recognize it was unpublishable, even if you knew Nothing At All About the Publishing Industry.)

I was subpoenaed to testify to that effect (hence my "legal trouble" in my mother's eyes), but at the last minute the perps pled guilty and I didn't have to go. But my peripheral involvement, even under a pseudonym, caused my mother No End Of Worry, and for years after whenever I even mentioned something online my mother would say something like "You're not getting into trouble again, are you?"

I have lunch with my parents for three reasons--first because I do actually love them and wish to connect with them on an occasional basis, second to ensure I am still in the will, and third, just to score a free lunch off of someone. (Mojo enjoys free food along with the lavish gifts people bestow upon her whenever possible.) So I spend lunch trying to assure my mother that my Craptacular is harmless fun, nobody gets hurt, and my blog is more about me than her. Like today, I say to illustrate my point, when I blogged my infamous story about the Baby Bunnies and the Lawnmower. Remember that story, Mom?

Which puts her on a whole other tack, which at first I intended until I realized it was a Far Worse Tack. Too late."What story about the baby bunnies and the lawnmower?"

You see, people? This is what I'm up against. Possibly one of the most traumatic things that ever happened to me (don't worry, no baby bunnies were actually harmed)--I probably screamed and whined of NOTHING ELSE for a month after it happened--and she doesn't remember. How can you not remember such a horrible-sounding story? You remember it, don't you? So I foolishly start retelling the whole story from the beginning there at the restaurant, and I barely start when Mom starts interjecting loud questions like "YOU RAN OVER BABY BUNNIES WITH THE LAWN MOWER?" which causes heads to turn and makes the waitress afraid of coming over to our table. So I have to get louder too and shout "NO! Well, not EXACTLY! WAIT! Let me FINISH! I can EXPLAIN!" which doesn't make me look very good, does it.

So then I try to change the subject again by saying how I also blogged the Dead Body In The Garage Story, and thus put the onus on her, for she *IS* the star of that little anecdote (well, probably after the dead body, that is), but it turns out she is more concerned about the welfare of baby bunnies and lunch does not continue until I swear on a stack of Bibles that of course I didn't hurt any bunnies, but for a brief while I thought I did and naturally it was very Upsetting and Traumatic and I'm sorry I brought it up and can we please talk about something more pleasant.

So we move on to more pleasant topics and they agree I should put up Aunt Mary's coin collection on eBay even though I don't know the first thing about coins and blah blah blah. We get back to their house and we're having a great deal of fun going through the coins and all of a sudden Dad has to get the propane grill out of the garage because a friend is going to borrow it. My parents have never once used their garage to actually house their cars (which is why the Dead Body In The Garage Story happened in the first place--they didn't regularly use their garage, and it turns out someone else did and stunk it up way bad) but instead they always use it for storage like it's a ground-level attic. And of course the propane grill is WAY in the back so they have to move various yard machines and boxes to get to it. And after they get out the propane grill I am snooping around and I see this.

"Hey, cool!" I say. "Can I have this?" Because I am such a terrible child it's all Take Take Take. Which is totally natural, I would argue, when you have three siblings and you are the Forgotten Middle Child. But that's another issue for another day.

"THAT old thing?" Mom says. "Well, I guess. If you WANT it. Why on earth would you want it?"

(Notice Mojo is too polite to respond with "Well, why on EARTH do you still have it in your garage?" Because that would be Rude, and besides, if I cheese her off she might not give it to me.)

"I'll sell it on eBay for the Craptacular," I say.

"Do people actually BUY things like that?"

"Well, if they won't, I'll take it for myself," I say. Because I honestly think it's pretty cool. To which they're like, fine, take it, here, take some other stuff too. And some books to donate to the library, since I direct my town's library and we're having a book sale later this summer. And before I know it half of the contents of their garage are in my little pickup. Funny how they do that.

But what is this, you ask? (Because you really don't care; you just want to see the stuff.) An old turn-of-the-century washer-wringer, patented in 1898, in fairly good shape with all the funny writing on it like many things back then. We're pretty sure it's not Aunt Mary's, so it's probably my Mom's father's side of the family from upper New York State. Not that it matters. It is an Anchor Brand Bicycle Wringer with Easy Turning Steel Ball Bearings Patented June 21, 1898. "The Rolls in this wringer are warranted 3 years for regular family use", but I assume it is now slightly out of the warranty period. It also has an "improved guide board for spreading the clothes" and was made by the Lovell Manufacturing CO in Erie, PA. It appears to be No. 761S, according to the lettering on the very top. It still turns, but the rubber on the rollers is old and cracked, and due to sitting for many years there's a definite flat spot when you turn it. Most of the hardware appears to be intact, but one of the lower bolts is broken.

But I think it's in beautiful shape all things considered (and don't worry--it was ANOTHER garage that housed the dead body, over forty years ago, so you needn't concern yourself on that level. The worst thing in THIS garage was a 'possum living there one summer, and even THAT was well over twenty years ago. And it didn't DIE in there, we just found it in there one evening treating the rafters like it was his own private jungle gym. (The exciting dénouement to that story was one of us kids saying, "Look Mom, it's a possum!" and Mom saying "Okay, leave the poor thing alone, get back in the house.") Because Mojo's mother--despite my constant libeling--is actually a fairly laid back Cool Mom who shares Mojo's Boundless Love For All of God's Creatures. (In fact, when a much younger Mojo accidentally stepped on a large rat snake and got very badly bit, the whole way to the doctor's office I was subject to a very stern lecture on how My Carelessness Needlessly Traumatized the Poor Snake.))

Anyway, this washer-wringer measures about a foot and a half square, with the handle adding another foot or so on that side. With it you will get the official Certificate of Craptacularity, which of course is a symbol of Mojo's commitment to your continuing satisfaction even at the expense of her own mental health. But hey--you get a cool washer-wringer, and I get a free lunch, and my Mom gets to express her concern that I am "getting in trouble again on the Internet". So everyone's happy!