I just spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make my WiFi work, and one is reminded of when Grammy could not get the electric can opener to do what she wanted so she threw it down the basement stairs. To me this is a perfectly reasonable response.
So now I have to begin working in 12 minutes and I don’t have any time to talk to you. Since the pandemic, I’ve been remarkably on time for work, way more on-the-dot than at any time when I had to drive in and be at a desk. I guess I feel nervous that someone is in a giant 1960s computer room, recording what time we all sign on on a clipboard. If it’s 8:31, I’m all, “I’M LATE!” these days. And we aren’t — weren’t — that kind of office. We were creatives. We were some-people-get-there-before-the-dawn/some-stroll-in-at-11:00. But now everything feels different.
Anyway, since I don’t have time to chat with all y’all and I had to UNSCREW MY RING DOORBELL and screw it back on (this morning, man. This morning tried my patience.) let’s discuss something. We’ll have participation day. But on what?
Oh! I know! OK, you know how my grandmother threw the can opener down the stairs and to me that seems a perfectly reasonable response? … It’s right up there three paragraphs ago, Sparky. Honestly, 14 years of doing this assures me someone will ask. “Where, June? Where did you say that?”
What kinds of family traits do you have? Like, what’s a thing you do where you say, “Oh, dear lort, I’ve turned into Grampa Henry.”
My other grandmother once chased her husband down the road with scissors. Again, seems reasonable to me. I think I’m not good at having husbands.
All right, let me know. Didn’t we have some kind of family story day recently that killed me, it was so funny? I have a vague recollection of adoring that day. Of course, nothing will top the “These darn shoes” story someone told me here once. I’d tell it but I now have THREE MINUTES to begin working on time.
Taking the morning train with my paper under my arm,