Starting Line
The alma mater is currently in its 50th year of primary education and ridiculed lunch.
Many things came to mind recently, as I strolled the campus. Two disturbed me.
1. So, that's what 50 years feels like.
It's a trifle.
And could use more sugar.
2. Uh, if Mike had 48 years of nickel-a-day overdue library fines and Johnny had no apples and Farmer Smith milked nine cows with 3½ brown Guernsey splotches each, how much would Mike owe with interest and legal representation and graft?
I hoped nobody searched my car. "The Cat in the Hat" is the junk in the trunk, the poop in the coupe.
I really meant to return the book and I will, as soon as I get through the exciting climax.
It's a trifle.
And could use more sugar.
2. Uh, if Mike had 48 years of nickel-a-day overdue library fines and Johnny had no apples and Farmer Smith milked nine cows with 3½ brown Guernsey splotches each, how much would Mike owe with interest and legal representation and graft?
I hoped nobody searched my car. "The Cat in the Hat" is the junk in the trunk, the poop in the coupe.
I really meant to return the book and I will, as soon as I get through the exciting climax.
Fifty years is a whole lot shorter than a child imagines at the tender, still-in-the-original-packaging age of eight.
I recall my teacher telling the class that we "would live to see the year 2000, a new century, and thongs on fat guys. Maybe Diet Squirt."
The air was filled with an impromptu blast of "Wow!" and several "Can we pre-order pies?" because I liked to mix it up.
