Bizarro got a laff the other day, but then it became strikingly relevant as I hit the road and, as I went through airports realized how many people have, indeed, been transformed into Bros.
It's a sort of uniform, and it goes beyond the backwards ball cap and goatee. Wayno has captured it quite well, in fact.
It's not the only uniform out there. I also see a lot of the extended goatee of the white-supremacist/militant-libertarian, and I have also begun to notice Old Duffers.
The Old Duffers strike me in particular because they're not that much older than I am anymore and I wonder where they find clothes.
Perhaps there's a store called "Old Duffer"in the mall where they sell the stuff.
Though maybe I don't have to worry about it, this being one of those things where, yes, you just wake up one morning and find that it has happened.
This Heart of the City, in which a small girl eats paste mixed with tomato sauce, brought back a funny memory.
I'm no Mrs. Angelini, but I do know how to fix Ragu on short notice and I certainly never foisted any canned pasta on my kids. But one day when the boys were in junior high and high school, we were shopping and they said they wanted some Franco-American.
There was a brief "the hell you do" conversation, but the stuff was about 50 cents a can, so I let them each pick out two cans.
When we got home, they each dug into their first choices. And then a few months later, we dropped the other two cans into a Food Drive bin.
Sometimes the best way to win an argument is to give in.
Both boys today are excellent cooks.
And I hadn't planned on such a short blog but my site has just gone cattywumpus and I've got to get ready for a day of work here in Denver, so I'll have to call it a day and we'll pick up on this theme tomorrow, the good lord willin' and the software havin' restored itself.
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