My mom's review of last night's "Project Runway," delivered to my text message today, as per usual:
In my house, and now it is spread to my family, we pick a "guy" to root for in every reality show competition. You have to choose your "guy" before the ending of the credits on the first episode, and you don't get to re-pick if your guy goes home early. (Although you may be granted and exception out of the goodness of your boyfriend's heart if your guy has some sort of weird medical condition and goes home 30 minutes into the first episode like my "Hell's Kitchen" guy did this season.) I am very bad at picking guys.
Hence last week's text, which is almost poetic in its simplicity.
If you find these amusing like I do, I will continue posting them on Fridays until she notices and gets mad.