A couple of Groucho-isms for the week:

As I mentioned on the other thread, I am trying (lamely, in several senses) to put together a woodshop for the boys (it will go better--I hope--once I can walk properly again!). They had seen a sign on somebody's playhouse that said, "Boys' Club, No Girls Allowed"; they thought they'd like to have a sign for their shop, but they didn't want anything like that ("Why have a sign like that? Girls are nice!" say my little bunnies). They've been reading about the English Civil War lately, and Groucho decided what should be on their shop sign: "Cavaliers' Woodshop; No Roundheads Allowed!" This cracked us up.

Tonight while I was making supper, Chico and I were amusing each other by making funny faces. Groucho caught one of mine (it was meant to be a gingerbread man, don't ask me why), and he said, "Goodness, Mummy, you look like something from a horror movie, or maybe even a wine critic!" This also cracked me up.