Grand Slam Communication
I took on online quiz that told me I’m 98% nice.
That’s almost perfect.
What sort of transgression could be worth a measly 2% deduction?
I would demand a recount, but that might lower my score even more.
A recount wouldn’t be nice.
I don’t correct people’s grammar when I’m not teaching.
That’s obnoxious.
Especially online.
And auto correct can be a jerk.
I make plenty of mistakes myself.
I try to overlook it when I see it online.
HOWEVER…
Today I read an entire conversation about a dessert tortoise.
The first post was about a pet dessert tortoise.
And all of the responses were about other people’s pet dessert tortoises.
Every single person in the thread spelled desert wrong.
In my mind, I pictured a slow-moving tortoise covered in whipped cream and chocolate syrup with a sprinkling of salmonella.
It’s a desert tortoise.
Not a dessert tortoise.
Proofread before you post.
My English student defined the word “laugh” as “a loud smile.”
Yeah.
That works
The Grown Son is a little annoyed at all of the quarantine graduation hoopla.
He didn’t want to go through his own graduation ceremony.
I forced the issue.
He participated grudgingly and only at my insistence.
And now he resents his missed opportunity.
If only he had graduated in a quarantine year…
Sorry, Kid.
I’ll check with your calendar when the next pandemic is unleashed.
Maybe we can work it into your schedule more favorably.
When I left California, I really hated to leave my Jacaranda tree behind.
I have planted some Vitex trees outside my back door here in Texas.
They’re not Jacaranda.
But they’re purple.
And they’re pretty.
And they’re blooming.
Yay, purple!
Every day this week, rain has been predicted.
Every day this week, the weather has remained dry.
Today I finally decided to water my vegetable garden.
It can’t wait any longer for the rain.
It was when I approached the gate to access the hose that I saw it.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
I was horrified.
Rat poop!
On the fence!
Rats have touched the very fence that I have to touch to access the hose!
Ewww.
The Husband, however, was kind of happy.
Over the years, he has devised a fool-proof method for dealing with rats.
Bob is very proud of his disgusting achievement.
Whatever.
Just get rid of the rats.
Ewww.
The Grown Son couldn’t remember the word for the end piece of bread.
He called it the stump.
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
And then I decided that “stump” is so much more descriptive than “heel.”
I have now renamed the end piece of bread.
I will notify Webster’s dictionary.
In the interest of not being pathetic and dependent, I asked Bob to show me how to mow the lawn.
Last week he showed me, and this week I did it myself.
I know that my rows were not up to the razor-straight standards that he demands.
Some of the rows were downright wobbly.
All I could think of was that scene in True Detective where Woody Harrelson gets up in Matthew McConaughey’s face and snarls at him threateningly, “You don’t mow another man’s lawn.”
I’m a little concerned.
If I’m lucky, Bob will say, “Nice job,” with false sincerity.
And then he’ll never let me near the lawn mower again because he can’t trust me to do it right.
I can only hope
During the quarantine, I have been making fresh marinara sauce.
Now I can never go back to the purchased stuff.
I can’t even go back to canned tomatoes.
It’s gotta be fresh.
I’m ruined.
I got bit again.
This time it was not a murder hornet.
I know because I saw it.
It was an ant.
I don’t know if it was a fire ant.
It wasn’t red.
But it was huge.
And it was squished by the time I got done with it.
It bit me right under the flip-flop strap.
And now I’ve got a painful welt and I can’t wear flip-flops.
A tragedy!
Until I found a different pair of flip-flops in my closet with a different strap angle.
Whew!
I can still wear flip-flops.
Stupid ant.