Or, in layman’s terms, a fist.
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I’m guessing you’ve never thought about this before, and until recently, it had been ages since it’d crossed my mind, but I’m going to ask you anyway: What kind of finger-pointer are you? I’m not sure how, but I think it’s probably very important that we ask ourselves this and learn how knowing what type of finger-pointer we are unconsciously dictates our lives. I was first brought to the attention of the power of the finger not, as you might imagine, by a rude driver showing me his emotional state caused by my “granddaddy” style of driving along our nation’s roadways. No,...
I’m not sure if you know this or not, but it’s never wrong to steal a pen.
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, faith, family, humor, life
I can count on one hand the number of things I’ve stolen in my entire life: four. I’m holding up four fingers, at this very moment, even though you can’t see them. But, that’s it: four items. Four, random though purposeful, inconsequential items. One of those items was a candy bar. A Kit-Kat, actually, and it was easily stolen because I used to run the “candy store” between class periods, at my high school. The smart kids got to do everything fun, especially when it involved cash handling. I only stole one candy bar and only the one time because I had convinced myself that...
What is it, the Internet or Prom? It’s neither; it’s Lies.
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, family, life
There are a lot of things I'm not good at. Riding horses, for instance. I'm also not good with cars - thank The Lord Above I've not had a flat tire...yet. I'm not the best with copiers, and I wouldn't leave me alone for too long with nonvoters. Granted, I've got more than armful of diplomacy - I still also have a middle finger. And patience, too. I'm not always that good with patience. I often pretend to have it in spades, but it wears thin quickly when I'm faced with things, items, products, and gadgets that do not "do what they're supposed to...
Mercy Blog, Part 3: A Nearly Christian Apology for Eighth Grade
So, the other day I was in Piggly Wiggly (or as U.L. calls it, The Pig) to purchase an eggplant, and while fondling the produce, legally - i.e., all fruits and vegetables were at least 18 days or older - I overheard two people, down by the locally grown peanuts bin (the peanuts were locally grown, not the bin - it was cardboard) discussing the stupid behavior of one of their other friends...I imagined the friend was the topic of conversation as the result of some weekend revelry. One said, "And I was like, God, this is stupid. You're being so eighth...
I was framed in the third, or fourth, grade maybe.
Whether I like it or not, I am just not me without these frames.
It is no secret that I cannot see well. Now, there might be some other mystery about me that is less recognizable or understood (such as why I detest feet so), but sight? No mystery there. Starting in third, or fourth, grade, maybe, for some reason unknown to me, my eyes began to betray me, sometimes with less than desirable results. (I feel betrayed only when I forget to wear my...
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