This explains the two-shirt phenomenon you see in American culture. We wear T-shirts under T-shirts sometimes. Perspiration levels vary by boy, but in a normal office environment, we’ll feel 17 degrees warmer than the average girl in the same room.
This explains the girl-in-a-snuggie next to a boy-in-a-t-shirt phenomenon in your office, and in mine.
That’s a lot of explanations for a lot of phenomenons. It’s also why I had to stop at Wal-mart for a T-shirt. It’s customary for me to forget something every time I pack to shower at work – a towel, washcloth, body wash, underwear … or even a simple undershirt.
Go Ask Daddy has been a fixture around here for decades, it seems. Only, now, my girls, all post-millennial, they of the vines and musical groups without all the letters in their names (like Weeknd), well, they suddenly want a payday for their “intellectual property.”
Much to my shock and chagrin, this might be the last installment of Go Ask Daddy.
My girls demand $1 per question asked here. Any post that 50% subject matter for any individual, combination of two or all three daughters, real or imagined, will require compensation, commiserate to word count. It’d dumb and it’s complicated. I’m appalled.
When I wrote overhead messages for companies in Chicago – pizza parlors, dental offices, bakeries – I’d rearrange my desk, once a month. I’d wipe it down with disinfectant wipes, switch decorations, and move my monitor. I sought a fresh start to every month.
I didn’t do away with pictures or trinkets.
I just moved them around. Gave my eyes new sightlines. I’ll do that with other things, including coaching, parenting, and blogging, right here. What could I do better? What can I give up? How will things look from here?
“Horses, new babies and my husband!” she said with a laugh in a comment last year, when I took on the A to Z writing challenge. It was the post for B, about breakfast – and the glorious smells that lift our lives.
She’s a kind, sharing soul with nine kids and a yard full of animals. A mom of nine! My mom tells me I used to wish for nine kids so I could field and entire baseball team. They might even give the actual Colorado Rockies a run for their money.
I’m about a furlong and a half behind on my blog anyway. Hell, there are emails in my inbox from last month’s six words that have gone as yet unthanked. Not to mention a couple of fantastic #GirlsRock posts just waiting for me.
In the meantime, I want to remind you to sign up to receive this month’s 6 words prompt. Just send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org and say you want in. (Which reminds me – I need to find February’s topic. Preferably during February.)
There’s one essential element to a good life. It might surprise you that it isn’t provolone.
Today for the A to Z Challenge, Z is for Zest. (By the way, provolone is definitely top 3). By Zest, I mean passion, love, energy and intensity. It’s also the relish, the gusto, the devotion you become when you’re embroiled in something that comes straight from your heart.
Zest fuels our blogs, ignites our teams.
It powers our pursuits.
It drives a girl to take off down the sideline, the ball at her feet, the wind at her back and a smile on her face. It elevates a young girl to sing boldly at an audition. It emboldens one to say yes to a ski trip on the spur of the moment with kids she doesn’t even know.
How will the A to Z Challengees address today’s letter, X?
Today on the A to Z Challenge, X is for Xenon. Don’t remember Xenon? It’s on your periodic table, element No. 54. That happened to be my football uniform number, back in the day. It’s a noble gas. I aspire to be noble. It’s colorless, dense and odorless.
I struggle with that last one sometimes.
I’m definitely a color – honey roasted, most accurately.
I know … we’re supposed to call them servers, not waiters.
Today in the A to Z Challenge, W is for Waiters. Why? They are one of my biggest pet peeves. Not waiters in general. And I know we’re supposed to call all wait staff servers. I know, firefighters too, not firemen. Police people? Where does it end? Oh yeah, and flight attendants.
My peeve isn’t with the waiter himself. (Although the term pet peeve is total shit, isn’t it? Why would you have a pet you hate? It’s not a pet. It’s a pest. It’s a pest peeve.)
I’m on pet peeves and waiters in part because of my friend Dana’s post called Biggest Pet Peeves. I liked her list. Or rather, I hated it.
I also hate when a server insists on memorizing my order. I’m not impressed. You might have a photographic memory, but what if the busboy drops a tray of whiskey glasses on your head and you suffer short-term memory loss?
For the A to Z Challenge today, V is for Vertigo. The past two years, that’s what I thought I’d get if I accepted the A to Z Challenge. Post, every day? On every letter? And read five post on other blogs – every day? That’s my inner ear turning salchows on my cerebellum.