When I was growing up with seven siblings we used to call each other ‘pig’ when we were mad or outraged with one another. To the point that mom became disgusted with the word. If she heard one of us call another of us ‘pig’ she would make the perpetrator stand in front of a mirror and say to the mirror “I am a pig” for a predetermined amount of times. Ten. One hundred. Whatever random number she chose. We would say I AM (whisper: not ) A PIG. We were so clever. So here we are all these many years later. Full circle. I am not a pig but appearances would have you think otherwise. This story has NOTHING to do with the above picture. Other than I am currently dressing up as a pig on occasion now, and it reminded me of the childhood story. Be well everyone. And keep those butts in place.