Don’t you just hate it when worlds collide? My second-grader informed us, imperiously, that Cupid is “just a myth.
The first Girl Scout cookie was sold on Nov. 11, 1932 by a troop in Philadelphia. The girls baked cookies for day nurseries as a community service project.
You just never know when you will be tapped for greatness. On the day the play parts were passed out by the school’s music teacher – a man with nerves of steel and/or really heavy-duty ear plugs – my son came bearing that slip of paper like it was the sword pulled from the stone.
Pardon my dust, but my home page is a mess. Worse yet, I’m expecting visitors. At least I hope I get visitors.
Generally, I shun technology. Fear it, even. I am still using a circa 1997 computer because, quite frankly, I’m scared to death of having to approach some 17-year-old employee at the equivalent of a “Techno Toys “R” Us” and showcase my pathetic ignorance.
Up to now, I have resisted physical activity in the form of “working out” the way fish, say, resist learning to ride a bicycle.
It’s that time again. Time for the annual “How I shall completely revamp my life in the New Year” passel of lies we all pass off as “resolutions.
You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you and, more horrifyingly, found underneath your Christmas tree.
It has come to my attention that parents, particularly at this time of year, spend a lot of time worrying themselves silly over one thing and one thing only, a concern so deep it literally wakes them from a sound sleep, apoplectic over some concern relating to: Santa.
A Romanian tried to lodge a complaint with consumer protection officials after his girlfriend refused to marry him.