The child is the father of the woman
This strikes close to home:
I do have a lot in common with toddlers, actually.
1. I spill things down my front (mostly just coffee).
2. I need WAY more naps than I actually take.
3. I like to eat things that are white. Green, not as much.
4. I firmly believe all pets love me, regardless of the growling they do as I approach.
5. Bathing is optional.
6. I sit too close to the TV.
7. Sometimes the answer you get from me is for a question you didn't ask. The question you did ask? I didn't hear you. Or I lost track and forgot what you asked. Or I rambled on about something else.
8. I'm easily distracted.
9. My stories rarely make sense.
10. I give voices to pets and stuffed animals.
Here are the ways I am NOT like a toddler.
1. I won't get angry at you when you make me go to bed. I will probably thank you.
2. Even though I love ice cream, I know it is not good to eat it on a daily basis.
3. I do not like cartoons or animation.
4. I have a hard time believing in make believe.
5. I don't need to be reminded that instead of holding my crotch to stop the flow, I can just go to the bathroom and use the toilet.
6. I won't answer a questions like "What do you want for your birthday?" with the plot of Star Wars.
7. I prefer to read books that don't have pictures.
8. I love road trips and car rides. And I won't fall asleep.
9. I understand what a "library voice" is and use it.
10. I believe in pants and the power of pants and the covering up of things by wearing the pants.
13 comments:
Pants can be overrated.
Kilts are good.
I love this post.
[ threadjack ]
Here is a post on swordfighting by someone who purports to be a master of the art. His point being that it normally is depicted in movies, etc., at great variance from how it was actually done. This seems to be one of your interest areas and I was wondering what you thought of it.
http://io9.com/5918644/swordfighting-not-what-you-think-it-is
[ /threadjack ]
Yeah, that's John Clement, the founder of ARMA (of which I am a member). I've trained with him in person. He knows his stuff.
Some overlap on both lists for me.
I see my wife in there, too.
I hear you. I score about a 19/20 -- I'm kind of in MikeD's camp about pants.
With the weather being what it's been and insects thriving as a result, particularly the mosquito and chigger varieties, I'm right fond of long pants and Deet.
W.B., on the other hand, was picking over the kitchen garden and melon patch in her above the knee shorts when she suffered a direct hit from a chigger raid. This was just a few days ago. She's still at DEFCON YEEE-OUCH!
I almost let slip a crack about the honeydew's revenge...
Wow, you aren't kidding about the insects. I find myself perpetually covered in bites of one sort or another, in spite of the liberal use of DEET-based repellents. I've never seen a year like this for the bugs.
I realize that it is bad ecology, but if every mosquito in North American suddenly dropped dead of heart failure, I would dance with wild abandon and uncontainable joy. Little *&^%%er caught me on the side of the hand as I was picking tomatoes yesterday. The hand I write with.
LittleRed1
I achieved poetic justice once as a boy at camp. A mosquito lit and bit, and I just let him feed. And feed. And feed. He got so fat that he couldn't fly; when he withdrew and tried to launch, he just fell off my wrist and fell to the ground. With sufficient force that his splat ruptured his abdomen, and he died.
The wages of gluttony know no demographics.
Eric Hines
I thought only the female mosquito sucked blood? Yanno, For The Children™...
The bestest insect story I can recall was when our scout troop was on a one week summer jamboree. One of the senior scouts, a bully sort who seemed to enjoy picking on the younger, smaller scouts in the troop way too much, made a PBJ under the dining fly one afternoon.
As he constructed his sandwich a bee somehow wound up betwixt the two slices of bread, in amongst the PBJ. He chomped on the sammich, the bee stung him in the lip, the lip swelled to an enormous size and many a laugh was enjoyed by the persecuted.
That bee-biting thing happened to my mother once on a picnic at Lake Lanier. She did the most amazing dance, poor woman.
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