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One of these things is Not True.
Oct. 17th, 2003 07:44 pmDespite my being a fairly neat person, particularly where table manners are concerned, I am completely unable to avoid getting jelly on my face while eating a peanut-butter sandwich. It does not matter whether the jelly is rasperry or boysenberry; it winds up on my chin. This does not happen with honey. This does not happen with chocolate. I have tried cutting my sandwiches into more manageable bits, but this does not seem to help.
While I lived in DC, I was very fond of answering the phone as a member of various government branches. "Oval Office," for example, said in a bright, but distracted voice. "Departmnet of the Treasury." "Library of Congress." Unsolicited callers often became flustered and hung up, which I found particularly amusing if they were calling from an inside line. Sometimes, I would tire of this, and start with branches of foreign governments - "Scotland Yard," perhaps, or "Bundesbank." When in a particularly whimsical mood, I would answer with the title of whatever object first entered my field of vision, provided it sounded sufficiently officious. "Master Gentleman Conrad, water sanitation bureau. . ."
One of my first jobs was a business I ran for myself. This was probably in the fourth grade, although it might have been earlier. Mostly it involved making very bad pop-up cards and guilting classmates and relatives into buying them. Perhaps calling it a "business" is too charitable. The only surviving relic of this period is a valentine in which a frog almost, but not entirely, fails to jump off the page. I do still make cards from time to time, (solely for personal use,) but they mainly feature collages or my own adamantly 2-D drawings.
My right foot is slightly larger than my left foot. A half-size or so. This is not at all unusual. Unfortunately, shoes come in pairs. Now, I maily wear sandals or slippers, but in my youth I was fond of tightly-fitted pointy-toed witch boots. These, I would wear well beyond the date when I should have stopped, most likely out of my well-documented distaste for garment shopping. No terrible impact was made on my left foot, given that my right would become uncomfortable long before its smaller twin was affected. My right foot, on the other hand, grew wrong; the two outer toes curled inward and almost underneath the others. Though many years of more forgiving footwear have largely corrected the problem, I still have to be careful to keep the nails closely cut, lest they cut up their neighbor toe.
When my parents remodeled their house, I asked that my bedroom be turned into a library - the Romie Stott Memorial Library - and that it eventually might have an honorary plaque. They largely held to my wishes, although one shelving element can be swung down into a bed, Transformer style.
Guess.
While I lived in DC, I was very fond of answering the phone as a member of various government branches. "Oval Office," for example, said in a bright, but distracted voice. "Departmnet of the Treasury." "Library of Congress." Unsolicited callers often became flustered and hung up, which I found particularly amusing if they were calling from an inside line. Sometimes, I would tire of this, and start with branches of foreign governments - "Scotland Yard," perhaps, or "Bundesbank." When in a particularly whimsical mood, I would answer with the title of whatever object first entered my field of vision, provided it sounded sufficiently officious. "Master Gentleman Conrad, water sanitation bureau. . ."
One of my first jobs was a business I ran for myself. This was probably in the fourth grade, although it might have been earlier. Mostly it involved making very bad pop-up cards and guilting classmates and relatives into buying them. Perhaps calling it a "business" is too charitable. The only surviving relic of this period is a valentine in which a frog almost, but not entirely, fails to jump off the page. I do still make cards from time to time, (solely for personal use,) but they mainly feature collages or my own adamantly 2-D drawings.
My right foot is slightly larger than my left foot. A half-size or so. This is not at all unusual. Unfortunately, shoes come in pairs. Now, I maily wear sandals or slippers, but in my youth I was fond of tightly-fitted pointy-toed witch boots. These, I would wear well beyond the date when I should have stopped, most likely out of my well-documented distaste for garment shopping. No terrible impact was made on my left foot, given that my right would become uncomfortable long before its smaller twin was affected. My right foot, on the other hand, grew wrong; the two outer toes curled inward and almost underneath the others. Though many years of more forgiving footwear have largely corrected the problem, I still have to be careful to keep the nails closely cut, lest they cut up their neighbor toe.
When my parents remodeled their house, I asked that my bedroom be turned into a library - the Romie Stott Memorial Library - and that it eventually might have an honorary plaque. They largely held to my wishes, although one shelving element can be swung down into a bed, Transformer style.
Guess.
