And I'm Darlene...

I'm outside blowing bubbles with Big E.

He is running around, jumping up, and popping the bubbles with his hands.

There is nothing but joy on his face.  Not me. Why does this strike a chord of uncomfortable familiarity?

Then, it hits me.

Apparently, I've been watching way too many Saturday Night Lives, as all I can think of is Big E's eerie resemblance to her:
Her hands. Oy.

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