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Remember Stone Soup? In the tale, a stranger wanders into town, hungry. Locals slam their doors. So the guy makes soup.
Cooking used to be a chore. Consider early man, who spent a good five hours running his prey to exhaustion, and then, panting over collapsed antelope, had to ponder Step Two.
Ficus is a shrub indigenous to the dorm room, waiting room and boyfriend bedroom. It's unavoidable. Get a boyfriend; endure a ficus.
The revolution demands: Rise up. And desks heed the call. Enough of sitting idle, standing still, holding steady at 29 1/2 inches above the carpeting. Now: They rise.
Bananas are berries. This dire news comes direct from the internet, at the far end of a night of berry-soaked revelry.
Our farmer girl leaves early and comes home dirty. She brings back the spare clump of radishes, the stray gourd, and bulging bags of mustard greens.
Ice is genius. The cube is genius. The ice cube is genius times two to the third. No doubt a large number. And yet, the ice enthusiast maintains aspirations.
"Adulting" can be pronounced two ways: dripping with sarcasm or bristling with scorn. After all, adult is best unadulterated. Either you can hoist a credit score, fix a flat and fold a fitted sheet, or you're not.
Remember Twin Peaks? Remember how the surreal murder mystery was populated with surreal characters: the woman who lugged a log, the dwarf dressed in red, the special agent who tape recorded every move and bite? Me neither.
Flowers, though quiet, have a lot to say. For instance: I’m sorry. I like you. And, at prom: You’re mine.
It’s good to have a goal, and mine is always the ice-cream sandwich.