Assorted Odd Ends with Occasional Stuff on the Side
posted by Hedgie at 4:40 PM
Dear Hedgie,Will you ever get out of your head and into this messy world of people?Tell us about your day. Perhaps you think me a peurile uneducated moron. It's true, indeed. Now that this has been established...what did you have for dinner?hee hee
"Will you ever get out of your head and into this messy world of people?"Thirty-six years of teaching and twenty-five years of marriage involved me very deeply in "this messy world of people"; having paid my dues, I am now where I have earned the right to be, and choose to be before declining faculties and health render it inaccessible to me. A recent serious illness, in part age-related, has shown me exactly how limited and fragile things can be; I choose to use what remains to me in the manner most satisfying."Perhaps you think me a peurile uneducated moron."No, just someone with the different priorities of (as I mentioned once before) a younger person.And I had a gyros plate at the local Greek diner.
What are your priorities?How, my friend, are they different then mine?
I'm not young, Hedgie.For some reason...I can't resist talking to you. You may have just insulted me with some literary reference that I did not understand. It happens all the time. Grrr.
No, there's no insult, literary or otherwise; I have no reason to insult someone with such admirable giblets. Really.I find myself enjoying talking with you, as well, no matter how much at cross purposes the communication sometimes seems.I know you're not young young (assuming you don't mistakenly take that as some kind of convoluted insult which it isn't), but, by your own admission, I'm beyond your age bracket of interest, so that makes you "young" in relation to me. As to how our priorities differ, I suspect I'm far more sessile than you at this point in your life.Alternatively, rather than getting in a more serious discussion than we usually have, we could discuss what we each had for dinner.Or just get into a food fight. Be warned: I have some of my (ex)-sister-in-law's sweet potato balls left over from Thanksgiving.
Okay. I am all about a food fight and I take no pleasure in announcing that you have no chance of victory. Not in a food fight against me.
Oh, really? You can have no way of knowing, of course, that you've just met the Culinary Doomsday Machine. And it's too late to turn back now.
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