Archive for February 2012
You’ve got to get your act together, people. This is not difficult. But just in case you left your brain behind today, I shall spell it out for you:
1. Thag shares a post here.
2. You read it and decide it must be shared with the rest of the world, for it is a work of social commentary so trenchant and relevant that the world must see it.
3. You share it with the rest of the world.
4. Thag leaves you alone.
5. You go back to doing whatever it is that you do when you’re not hanging on my every word.
6. You look back, not too many years from now, and realize you were instrumental in stroking the ego of the great Thag.
Originally posted September 13, 2010
Since the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy in the US military has received so much media coverage in recent weeks, months and years, I thought it germane to note that we, too, have a policy by that name, and that perhaps other parents might want to post the elements of this policy around the house for the offspring to review, then ignore at will.
Because that’s what they do. They would not be independent beings if they blindly performed every little task we ordered them to. They would not generate such vicarious pleasure if obedience and proper behavior were to be expected. If they actually cleaned up after themselves after, say, missing the toilet in such a way that the mechanics of the incident remain scientifically inexplicable, we would not notice. It must be thus.
That does not stop us from expecting the best from them at all times. I am pleased to present, therefore, Thag’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy:
1. For a snack unless you are prepared to accept an apple or carrot.
2. The same goddamn question again and again and again.
3. For pizza for every single meal.
4. To stay home from school. Not happening.
5. For more clothes. You have more than enough.
6. Why that person is so fat, unless you do so in a very, very soft voice. So soft that not even I will hear you.
7. For dessert until everyone else has also finished eating.
8. Me to help you find something unless you have looked ABSOLUTELY EVERYWHERE.
9. For a band-aid unless it’s for a band-aid-appropriate injury. The following injuries do not qualify: Invisible scratches; bruises; mosquito bites; soreness; nonexistent wounds.
10. For anything we have already told you you will not get, in the hope that we will forget that we revoked that privilege as a result of something you did.
11. Any question at all to which you already know the answer, but are just looking for the security of getting the response you expected. You will not like the response you get, so don’t ask it.
1. On your siblings unless they are doing something dangerous.
2. Anyone they’re fat.
3. Me you weren’t doing anything when I clearly saw you or heard you engage in an activity I’ve told you at least four billion times, in the last three days alone, not to do.
4. Me you couldn’t hear me when you simply weren’t listening.
5. Your innocent younger siblings anything other than the unvarnished truth. Or your older siblings. Or your parents. Or anyone.
6. Your mother you’ll be back home at five unless you really WILL be back home at five, which means leaving your friend’s house a good bit BEFORE five to ensure that you get home on time.
7. Me to do your laundry because you have no clean clothes. In our society, we have this concept called “respect” that calls for making requests, not demands, especially when demands will make me simply say, “No.” You will find this mode of communication extremely helpful with anyone who holds any power whatsoever over you.
8. Your friends that your father has a secret identity as a superhero. Even if true, it only invites unwanted attention and makes my life more difficult. Goes-Eight-Months-At-A-Time-Without-Showering-Man cannot perform his duties with all that distraction.
9. Solicitors at the door or on the phone that we are available.
10. Me you’re not hungry right after I prepared you the food for which you just asked. Tough.
11. Me you won’t when I insist you will, or vice versa.
12. Me something happened accidentally when it happened because you were touching or playing with something not yours.
13. Me about anything less urgent than life-threatening danger before 6 in the morning, and even then, it might depend whose life.
Other policy elements shall be issued from time to time; please note them and internalize them. Other parents are naturally welcome to develop their own policies, as well as to suggest additions or amendments to the one delineated above. Just not before six in the morning.
Good morning and welcome aboard Incontinental Airlines Flight Number One to Biard, France (Airport code PIS). Urine for a pleasant flight today. I’m Captain “Lefty” Ureter, and assisting me are copilots Phil Bladder and Kidney Stone.
Our flight time today will be approximately five hours and twenty minutes, and will include the in-flight movie Pishin Impossible, starring the inimictible Peer Graves. Our route will take us over northern France, which this time of year is flush with greenery.
Shortly after takeoff our sewerdesses will begin offering beverage cart service, so please do not block the aisles, especially those leading to the restrooms. For your convenience, Incontinental Airlines has begun installing innovative technology to make the emergency oxygen apparatus double as a urine bag in case a passenger begins to diaperventilate.
On today’s flight we have something special: a delegation of the Republican Potty. These men are whizzes at what they do, especially the head of the group, Yuri Nalyssis. He’s sitting in row seven, and would love to speak with – oh, excuse me, you’re in eight? You’re in eight? Is that right?
Please stay tuned for the safety presentation by the sewerds and sewerdesses. After that we will await the OK from micturition control.
Uh oh. Ladies and gentlemen, please stay in your seats. We may have a leak…
Originally posted March 31, 2011
Pluralism means wanting or accepting our differences, even if those differences are very big. Timmy, sit down, and leave Marcia alone. Leaving Marcia alone means you accept her being different from you, even though she never takes a bath. We call that part of pluralism “tolerance.”
When we are tolerant, we do not make other people feel bad for being different from us. Gregory here is the only black person in this class, but to call him “son-of-a-whore” because of it would not be tolerant, even if he probably doesn’t know who his father is. Kim and Anna’s parents came from some godforsaken country in Asia, but we do not call them “gook” or “slanty-eyed.” We want to be pluralistic.
Now, the principal wants us to talk about pluralism because some children in the older grades beat up another student because he goes to a Mormon church, not a real church. We all know that beating people up for being different is wrong; we’re only supposed to give them dirty looks and say they will go to Hell when they die. But Principal Martin thinks we need to try even harder than that. So we’re going to talk about pluralism and tolerance.
You might think that we don’t try to be tolerant when someone is clearly wrong, but actually, that’s exactly when it happens. Even though Jews are Hellspawn who killed our Lord, we are not going to spit on Jacob or Beth. We are going to treat them as we treat everyone else. Yes, Timothy, that means they stay in the room when we have our class Christmas party.
Pluralism is one of the reasons our founding fathers made sure there would be freedom of religion, and that’s the way the courts still see it, even though our founding fathers did not face the danger of Muslims trying to impose Shariah law on us and make us their servants. Yes, Jessica, that’s exactly what they believe; just ask your pastor. But if we had a Muslim in our class, there would be no singling him or her out for beaning during dodge ball just for that reason. He would also have to be a nerd. Yes, Timothy, he could also come to the Christmas party.
What’s that, Grace? Well, that is a good question, but not really about pluralism, so I’ll answer it very briefly. Our founding fathers decided we need what’s called a “separation of church and state,” which means that the government will not favor one religious group over another. But of course everyone knows they meant this to be a Christian nation, so having a Christmas party in a public school is no big deal.
But back to pluralism. In addition to talking about pluralism, we’re going to spend some time practicing it. I have here a dress – a very ugly dress. Jacob, you’ll get to wear this dress and stand at the front of the class. The rest of us will practice trying not to laugh or throw things at Jacob.
We’ll do this every morning, right after the pledge of allegiance. Jacob, Beth, Kim, Anna and Gregory will take turns wearing the dress.
Now, if you’ll open your English books to page forty…
My son never does his homework. He’s already ten years old, and nothing we say or do gets him to complete his work for any length of time. We’ve tried rewards, punishments and everything in between, to no avail. What works one day fails the next. What are we to do?
At Wit’s End in Secaucus
Dear Wit’s End:
I assume you’ve already tried warning him that Santa does not look favorably upon children who neglect their school work. However, given his age, he’s about as likely to retain a belief in Santa as he is to know nothing about sex. Oh, you didn’t realize that, did you? Were you under the impression that anyone over the age of eight in this interconnected age is still ignorant of the basics? Oh, dear. It appears Junior is not the only one in Secaucus with some maturing to do.
In any case, I recommend Catholic school. There’s no better way to straighten a kid out and scar him for life at the same time than making the consequences of a missed assignment be spending an afternoon alone with Father Flanagan in his office. You know, the Father Flanagan who gets quietly reassigned to new places every now and then.
Are tips mandatory all of a sudden? I had always thought that tips for waiters were contingent on courteous, capable service, but more and more, the providers of these services seem to consider tips an entitlement. Have the standards changed, or are there just more rude people around?
Bewildered in Denver
I have a suggestion that might change your perspective. Try playing Santa one day at a shopping mall during December. The physical abuse, decibel level and ceaseless Christmas music would be enough to drive a saint to murder – and waiters have to deal with more than that: picky, rude customers; messy children; impatient management; ill-informed kitchen staff; and hourly wages that would make an illegal immigrant cringe, just to name a few. Don’t blame the poor bastards for not achieving satisfactory results.
Instead, cook your own goddamn meals at home, and pack a sandwich. It’s consumption-oriented pigs such as you who have made my once-pleasant vocation an absolute nightmare. Want some anthrax in your stocking this year?
Please help my brother and me settle an argument. I maintain that Babe Ruth was the greatest baseball player ever, and he contends that the title should go to Ted Williams. Who is right?
Waiting in Knoxville
I hate questions such as this one. Where’s the angst? The moral quandary? The emotionally fraught dilemma? You give me nothing to work with. All I get is a lame request to settle a bet. What is wrong with you people? Aren’t brothers supposed to have a dysfunctional relationship? Certainly that’s how it was with me and my brother. The creep.
Oh, and the answer is Ruth, hands down. He was fat and still did well. Like a certain saint I know…
My wife of eight years is an alcoholic, only she won’t admit it. She has wine with her dinner whenever we go out, and I sometimes see her sniff her perfume before she puts it on. How can I get her, gently, to realize she has a problem?
Concerned in Dallas
This is a joke, right?
(Oh – sorry about that, old buddy – we’ll talk later, over some Scotch)
OK, I’m going to type this slowly so that even you can understand it: yes, your wife has a problem. That problem has been married to her for eight years. You know what to do.
Confidential to Nervous in Philly: I don’t completely understand what kind of photos and videos you mean – what kind of home movies could possibly be so damaging that you would fear the rest of the family might see them? Please forward them to me so I can more fully grasp what you’re getting at.
(AP) – A recent study by the American Psychiatry Institute indicates that murder victims might be suffering from depression much more commonly that previously thought. The report, published last week in Psychology Today, is based on analysis of interviews with 621 murder victims. Researchers conducted the interviews between June and December of last year, posing questions related to the subjects’ habits, emotions, attitudes and general behavior.
The study authors noted that the subjects displayed many of the classic symptoms of depression: no appetite; difficulty making decisions; listlessness; and difficulty remembering details, among others. In particular, the subjects’ unwillingness to engage the researchers in conversation made the interviews a challenge, but highlighted the apparent need for more data on this growing demographic. The study did yield enough usable information, according to the lead author, Vladdra Cula, Professor of Clinical Psychology at Zombia State University.
“This study goes a long way towards explaining many aspects of murder victims’ behavior,” said Cula. “For years, clinicians have had what amounts to no guidance when it comes to this cohort of unfortunate sufferers.” He noted that historically, mental health professionals have not made treatment of murder victims a priority, partly because the latter rarely, if ever, seek psychiatric intervention, preferring to suffer in silence.
The study contained a number of surprises, according to the Psychology Today article. For example, it turns out that no significant differences emerged between the responses of those murdered in terrorist attacks and those murdered during the course of armed robbery; neither did either group show real differences from those murdered as a result of domestic violence. The authors of the study had expected to find that the diverse circumstances surrounding the different types of murders would lend themselves to more variegated psychological profiles.
Another unexpected outcome of the study involves the notable absence of drug or alcohol addiction or abuse among the participants. That datum represents a significant departure from other demographics, in which drug abuse or addiction commonly occurs among those affected by depression.
“These surprising findings raise questions as to the quality of treatment murder victims can expect in any clinical setting,” said Mel Ancholy, director of the not-for-profit Council On Research in Psychological Endeavors, a think-tank. “It might serve to explain why murder victims do not seek professional treatment – who wants to bother if the mental health workers are misinformed regarding everything about you?”
The authors acknowledge that the sample size might not adequately reflect the larger picture among murder victims. Logistical and financial hurdles precluded gaining access to people murdered in the Holocaust, for example; reaching any of them required traveling to Eastern Europe and tracking down people whose last traces were obliterated in crematoria and mass graves during the 1940′s. Similar obstacles prevented the researchers from interviewing those who perished in the post-WWI Armenian Genocide and the 1994 massacres of Tutsi Rwandans by the neighboring Hutu, as well as Bosnian Muslims in places such as Srebrenice.
Ancholy hopes to see further research into this sector of the population, but acknowledges that funding for such studies will be hard to come by. ”It’s the sad reality that grant makers don’t like research of this nature,” he lamented. “Proposals for more studies of this kind are basically D.O.A.”
Hey, SEO specialists! No, over here! Yeah, Mightier Than The Pen! That’s right!
Anyone want to buy a link on my site? I have a PageRank of…uh…say, is that real silk? Well, I’ll be. It certainlylooks like real silk.
Listen, I’ve got a plethora of great anchor text for sale. You want “rotting llama carcass”? I got that several times over. “The sewers of Hoboken?” Check. “Torrents of too-clever cerebral phlegm”? Accounted for. C’mon, you know you need that special link juice only I can provide.
Just imagine what happens if someone searched for “only if Twinkies are unavailable” and you don’t have a link in place from my site. Could you live with yourself? Or “Thag, son of Ogg.” These are just waiting for someone to snatch them up – don’t let the competition beat you to i- hey, where ya goin’? You can’t get these incoming links anywhere else! I’m the original! You’ll be sorry!
Yeah, when I’m a world-famous blogger with oodles of incoming links and a syndicated whosiswhatsis, you’ll regret not getting in on the ground floor, when the getting was cheap! You’ll lose sleep at night, saying to yourself, “Damn it! Why didn’t I buy a link from Mightier Than The Pen?” Your health and personal life will deteriorate as you obsess over why you were so shortsighted. And mean-spirited. Yeah, mean-spirited. You think it’s easy for a guy to put himself out there like this, prostituting himself in a desperate, increasingly pathetic attempt to gain some income for his efforts? Ooooh, but you’re a consultant, are you? You probably have a slick business card and “billable hours” and some important-looking mobile device. You don’t have time for hoi polloi such as a hardworking blogger, do you? No, of course not; you have people with money to try and impress, clients with enough business sense to be in an actual business instead of some contrived scam to trick the Googlebot into thinking unimportant things are important and popular.
Well, I got news for you, pal! No, I will NOT let go! You listen to me, and listen good! I got news for you! Google HATES people like you! They want sites to rank high based on their own merits, and their genuinepopularity, not some artifice. You want me to tell Google about you? Want me to rat? Well, I can do that! I got contacts! I know people! And you’ll rue the day you turned your back on Mightier Than The Pen!
You’ll be free to go when I’m good and ready, not moment sooner, punk. You think you’re so important. You’re such a hotshot! “Get off me. Let go of me.” Yeah, that’s how you sound, like some nerdy high school freshman about to be given his third wedgie of the day. I’m so impressed, Poindexter. You sign here and I’ll let go.
Or you can fork over $5,000. You decide. I’m not so picky. The main thing is that you feel disgusted with yourself. Me, I’m already there.
Thank you. Sorry about the tie. You’re lucky that’s not real silk anyway.
BEACH LAKE, PA (AP) – In what journalism industry experts are calling a colossal blunder, the Wayne Independent assigned a deaf reporter to cover the fall of a 100-year-old spruce tree that occurred when no one else was present to witness it. The journalist, 34-year-old Gregg Nealy, arrived just in time to see the spruce teeter and collapse, but was unable to determine whether the event had produced any sound.
The tree, which had leaned northwest for years, began to look unhealthy two years ago, according to Myra Gaunt, 60, of nearby Indian Orchard. Local children used to climb its sloping trunk, she recalled, but it began to show signs of frailty, and it was only a matter of time before the venerable tree came down. Gaunt alerted the Independent to the impending story opportunity, and the newspaper dispatched Nealy, whose beat includes the deer population, precipitation concerns, cow methane emissions and tracking the number of out-of-state license plates at the Honesdale shopping plaza parking lot.
“This is scandalous,” said Honesdale resident and media critic Arthur McNabb. “The Independent squandered an opportunity to answer one of the age-old issues in human existence. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but this is hardly the first screw-up.”
McNabb referred to a previous occasion, last March, when the Independent assigned Nealy to interview a visiting lapsed Zen Buddhist who claimed he could clap with one hand. Nealy, who can read lips proficiently, had no trouble conversing with the visitor, but was unable to ascertain what sound the man’s hand produced when his fingers rapidly struck the raised portions of his palm.
Fuller Utley, Managing Editor at the Independent, defended the paper’s decision, noting that the tree could not know that Nealy was deaf, and therefore the question of sound remained moot. He further noted that the former Zen Buddhist in question freely distributed recordings of his manual feats, rendering the auditory abilities of the reporter irrelevant.
At the scene of the tree collapse, where dozens of residents had gathered, a scuffle erupted between opponents and defenders of the Independent, which police quickly broke up. McNabb accused Utley of deliberately stifling scientific inquiry, while Utley countered with assertions that McNabb had a personal vendetta against the newspaper for declining to send a reporter to write about a mudhole on his property in which his wife Sylvia had seen an image of the virgin Mary.
Utley himself put a sign up outside his property along Navajo Parkway East three weeks ago, renaming that section Navajo Driveway, to make the name congruent with its function. Nealy covered that story as well, noting in the article that the thoroughfare was never used for parking, and that any driver who did so risked a fine and towing. He further wrote that Utley’s remarks on that occasion included a promise to eliminate semantic confusion, and that he would soon embark on a political drive to change Wayne County driveways to parkways in keeping with their current use.
Following the scuffle, a debate ensued among local dog owners regarding the age at which it is no longer possible for a canine to apprehend new learned behaviors.
Aries (March 21- April 20): Try as you might, the only way to succeed in your current endeavor is to make a pact with the Devil. The Devil, however, really, really wants to see you fail, if only for the entertainment value. Which explains why you coached the New England Patriots to yet another Super Bowl loss. To the Giants. Pathetic, right?
Taurus (April 21-May 20): The stars indicate this would be a very auspicious time to drop out of any major contests, especially those involving political leadership. It turns out the stars are wary of a Republican leadership whose name has become synonymous, however briefly, with “the frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex“.
Gemini (May 21 – June 21): A caring, decent human being would stick with an ailing spouse, not serve divorce papers, but those rules don’t apply to you, because you’ve been Speaker of the House of Representatives. You’ve also been caricatured in Doonesbury as a lit bomb that eventually exploded, and you bizarrely consider yourself an intellectual, all of which makes you the perfect candidate to vie for the Republican nomination. The stars beg you to keep at it, because, frankly, they never tire of hearing commentators and interviewers remind you of your multiple dysfunctional marriages.
Cancer (June 22 – July 22): This is a time for you to kick back and enjoy the fruits of your labors: you got the country involved in two costly wars, alienated a slew of former allies, increased government spending to record levels, did bugger-all to get the country out of the economic doldrums and consistently came off as less intelligent than a comatose chicken.
Leo (July 23 – August 23): Your followers are called “Paultards” for a reason, dude. How electable are you when you fail to consider the nation’s dependence on oil from foreign sources? When your followers include a disproportionate number of loony conspiracy theorists? Quit while you’re behind.
Virgo (August 24 – September 23): Your career prospects look great, if you’re aiming to break into lewd photography. A career in public service, however, seems not to be in the cards any, er, longer. If you catch that brief reference. It’s too bad “wiener” isn’t how you spell your name, or it would be perfect.
Libra (September 24 – Octiber 23): Just because you’re not a Republican doesn’t mean you have to be competent or realistic. You’re already the first incumbent to lose a presidential reelection bid since before the Great Depression; the rest of your failures are icing on the cake. This would be a good time to use inflammatory rhetoric, such as calling Israeli policies “Apartheid.”
Scorpio (October 24 – November 22): You have a propensity for recruiting psychologically weak female followers; use it to wield power over them and have them murder a whole bunch of Californians in an attempt to start a race war you believe foretold in the lyrics of the Beatles song Helter Skelter.
Sagittarius (November 23 – December 21): Aside from sharing the last name of a family of ne’er-do-wells on the lowbrow sitcom Married: with Children, you have a gift for abducting, bludgeoning, raping and murdering young women.
Capricorn (December 22 – January 20): As a career move, you should change your too-ethnic last name Dzhugashvili to something more impressive, preferably with the connotation of “steely” in Russian. Also the
tsars stars recommend revising the official records so that your birthday does in fact make you a Capricorn. Under your watch, the Soviet Union can look forward to inept political interference in military affairs, repeated purges, and genocidal treatment of ethnic minorities.
Aquarius (January 21 – February 18): Who says a career in Hollywood means you don’t have the muscle to be elected president? Not only can your aw-shucks demeanor charm your adversaries, your increasing senility will render you blissfully unaware of the corrupt, illegal activities of your senior staff. Let the International Court of Justice find the United States guilty of war crimes against Nicaragua; you have more important things to do, such as promoting the “trickle-down” theory of economics to justify huge tax breaks for the rich while leaving the poor in the lurch.
Pisces (February 19 – March 20): Your influential, connected New England political family has provided you with the resources and drive to make your mark in government. Squander it by abandoning the scene of the deadly accident in which your illicit mistress was killed.
2. Thou shalt notify the parents of the event no more than three days before the announced time.
3. Thou shalt mandate homemade costumes that only skilled craftspeople can produce in the time allotted.
4. Thou shalt begin no less than thirty minutes late.
5. Thou shalt precede each number with a meandering, irrelevant exposition.
6. Thou shalt pump up the volume of the musical accompaniment such that it drowns out the children’s voices.
8. Thou shalt pretend the kid with no ability whatsoever deserves accolades for his “performance”.
9. Thou shalt not make adequate provision for care and supervision of the smaller children when they are not performing, especially as the hour gets late and their behavior deteriorates.
10. Thou shalt offer for sale a recording of the festivities as if anyone in their right minds would want to spend actual money on such a massacre of all that is aesthetically acceptable.
New rule: no blogging when I’m hungry.
Let me rephrase that: I shall adhere to the no-blogging-when-hungry rule. Because every paragraph ends up coming down to the same thing: all the delicious food I want but am not having, for whatever reason – too expensive; too far away; too much effort required to wrestle the chocolate chip cookies away from others. Mmm. Cookies.
So I decided not to do this, not to blog when I crave alimentary satisfaction. It should help me retain the serenity I wish to project, instead of maintaining the overpowering desire to positively inhale that package of Pepperidge Farm Nantuckets.
Struggle might build character, yes; but some struggles inevitable lead to the same result every time: a contemplation of that fabulous chocolate cake I made this past weekend. It was better than usual, in fact: moist all over, firm but not burnt at the edges, no need for frosting. Perfect with a glass of cold milk.
I should definitely find something constructive to do. We have some shopping to accomplish, so I should bundle the kids up and head out. We need potatoes, peppers, cucumbers, carrots, yams, melon and milk. While I’m out, I might as well stop at that new-ish ice cream place. Their chocolate was pretty good, last time I was there. I wonder if they have shakes now? Man, I could go for a good, rich milkshake, heavy on the ice cream and light on the milk. About a 2:1 ice-cream-to-milk ratio should do it.
Or I could get some laundry done. There’s plenty to fold and a bit more to wash, but at least we got the cumbersome tablecloths out of the way already. We had to have a couple of them dry cleaned because they got chocolate mousse on them, which we served in terra cotta flowerpots, with chocolate cookie crumbs over the top and decorated with realistic plastic flowers. Still have a couple of pots left in the fridge, actually.
There’s also some cleanup in the kitchen to do, as always. Still have to load the dishwasher and run it; still have to clean the mixing bowl and spoon from that batch of flourless peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. I had to do quality control, of course, and it takes a good bit of self-control not to down the rest of them. Man, those are good. You don’t suppose we really need all seventy, do you?
I could also distract myself by thinking about today’s failed car inspection. Had to take the car to get a few things fixed before the registration would be renewed. Costs a pretty penny, but they have some of the best free coffee there in the waiting room. I had a latte with just a touch of sugar, and it would have been the perfect accompaniment to a good cheese danish, like the one from the bakery over on the next street. Also not too sweet, unlike most of the other places around here. And they avoid putting raisins in, which provides yet another reason to like them. Sometimes I get to that bakery early enough in the day and the danishes havejuuust come out of the oven; they go down silky smooth and soft. Yum.
Maybe I should just take a nap. I could sure use more sleep; was up late last night doing some shopping for a big weekend. We’re gonna have about forty people overall, which means lots of desserts. So we’ll probably make truffles – thus the shopping trip; part of it was to get chocolate and other ingredients. I love the way the bitter cocoa coating contrasts with the creamy, bittersweetness of the truffle itself. Might even coat some of them in cinnamon.
Yeah, it’s a good rule. I can see it working already. Why, it never even occurred to me to mention the chocolate coated almonds that I wanted to buy, but the store had no more. Maybe next week.
Wouldn’t you know it? I’m hungry.