footwear for the fainthearted (feign-tarded? faint of fart?)
There's a guy at work named Lister Lim. I'm fairly certain that his immigrating parents were inspired by what must have been some pervasive Listerine propaganda (literally). It's kind of like how all the Asian immigrants in the 60s and 70s named their children Jimmy and Carter (not a stereotype: I've met plenty of them), or how freed slaves renamed themselves Abraham and Jefferson (I've met plenty of them, too) -- only much more comical. What's even more comical is that I'm on a public e-mailing list & often see emails addressed to him as Lester. In any case, I enjoy Lester's unintentionally excessive use of the ellipsis at the end of his messages. The messages are never mysterious at all. They go something like: "I'll wait for a confirmation on that booking..............................." Three dots is enough to leave the reader in subtle suspense. But such an absurd number of dots makes me feel absurdly suspenseful to the point of out-loud laughter, largely resulting from nervousness. I feel like he's hiding some huge, incredible secret -- I'm on the very edge of my seat and he's on the verge of telling it, but.................................
There's another girl who works alongside Lester, in fact, named Priscilla. I think she's from Ghana. She's a sweetheart and she addresses her emails to me "My Lady," or "Lady Claire" either because a) she has a weak command of English, b) she has a strong command of humor, or c) she's a time-traveler hailing from the 14th century. I like to think it's a combination of the latter two.
This is unrelated, but in the reasonably small distance between the metro stop & my modest abode there are four ... FOUR comfort shoes stores. I cannot imagine what District of Columbians are doing so as to demand such a disproportionate amount of comfort footwear. Walking, yes, but there's no way any one individual is walking more than 5 blocks at any given point. The public transport stops are all comfortably close to one another, and it's not like DC is a sprawling metropolis by any means. I think mainly people are just uncomfortable in their skin and they confound that squeamish feeling with foot pain. Because this town wears not only on the sole but on the soul as well.
My mom seals opened bottles of wine with saran wrap.
There's another girl who works alongside Lester, in fact, named Priscilla. I think she's from Ghana. She's a sweetheart and she addresses her emails to me "My Lady," or "Lady Claire" either because a) she has a weak command of English, b) she has a strong command of humor, or c) she's a time-traveler hailing from the 14th century. I like to think it's a combination of the latter two.
This is unrelated, but in the reasonably small distance between the metro stop & my modest abode there are four ... FOUR comfort shoes stores. I cannot imagine what District of Columbians are doing so as to demand such a disproportionate amount of comfort footwear. Walking, yes, but there's no way any one individual is walking more than 5 blocks at any given point. The public transport stops are all comfortably close to one another, and it's not like DC is a sprawling metropolis by any means. I think mainly people are just uncomfortable in their skin and they confound that squeamish feeling with foot pain. Because this town wears not only on the sole but on the soul as well.
My mom seals opened bottles of wine with saran wrap.