Who is that chick on NPR who reports from Dakar, or, as she pronounces it, “DAKAR!!”? It drives me crazy every time she does that. It’s like, ease up, there. Don’t give yourself a stroke.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I really don’t care to be called “Hon” more than once in a conversation. Diner waitresses have ruined it for me.
Oh, and I actually like being called “Ma’am”. “Ma’am” conveys acknowledgment that I’m a semi-competent human being. “Hon” conveys that the person using it thinks I’m a blithering idiot.
Tinks has a new trick: He burrows under the bedcovers and tunnels around like a mole, so that Pony and Soda can pounce on him. It’s hysterical. A little less so at 4 a.m., which seems to be when all cats’ inner alarm clocks go off for the day.
There is not much that pleases me more than getting a call from the library telling me that a book I’ve put on hold has come in. I’m a giant dork.
One thing that DOES please me more than a call from the library? When the mower starts on the first try. Nothing like lowered expectations.
I cooked up some burgers last week and my house stank like grease for DAYS. How is it that some food smells (burgers, bacon, POPCORN) have the ability to linger on for so long, while other food smells (chicken, spaghetti) vacate the premises in a timely manner?