Talking to a mechanic or a car dealer is like talking to a Dr. Seuss character for me. Seriously, they could say anything and I would believe it.
The fop-whistle on the groaning plate is off by three particles.
Sure, I reply and nod.
Apparently, the peanut butter cup pancakes at Denny’s are only good in theory.
Who designs their menu? Is it just a bunch of guys debating over beers? This is how I imagine the discussion of their “master chefs” in the corporate offices:
“Should we add more chocolate chips?”
“Good idea, people love chocolate (Burp).”
It’s been over 20 years since I have been in a marching band, so why is it that I still walk in tempo?
AND when I try not to walk in tempo a part of my brain seems to revolt in disgust. I just can’t do it. It feels like a success and a failure all at the same time. Continue reading