Writes all the things. Most of the things never write back.
“I love to listen to gospel music and in this car I can turn the volume up so loud that it sounds like a symphony and you can’t even hear it on the outside!”
You know what ELSE you can’t hear when you’re rolling around in your own little mobile symphony? Things you might need to hear while you’re driving, like car and truck horns and sirens.
Ad on the radio for a local car dealership, and the narrator commends the salesman for selling them a larger vehicle than they intended to buy, with AWD, thus “putting the customer first.”
Well played, salesman. You get a halo… AND a bigger commission. I’m sure that was just a coincidence, though.
I was part of a writers’ retreat this weekend. The location was great, but lacked a stove. “I’ve got this,” I said.
I went home and got the electric skillet I’d inherited from my mother. I used it this morning to fry bacon, and sausages, and eggs scrambled and sunny-side-up. (Not both at the same time, though. An egg cannot be simultaneously scrambled AND sunny-side-up, except in Schrödinger’s kitchen.)
It was the first time I’d used it since I had it. The decluttering experts say to get rid of anything you haven’t used in a year. Those experts weren’t around to help me cook breakfast this morning.
And, by the way, the electric skillet? Avocado green, baby.
I now want to write about Schrödinger’s Diner, where you can have anything you want; just not necessarily at the same time.
I now want to write about Schrödinger’s Diner, where you can have anything you want; just not necessarily at the same time.