That’s how we bring up all children in our family: by ear.
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I like to think I'm a good uncle. Even though, I don't really know my "real" nieces and nephews. I've seen Millie, once; I've seen Auden, once; I've never meet Vinnie. So, to make up for this: I give all my grand uncle-ness to a series of young cousins, whose mothers I grew up with, as my nieces, being the baby of the adopted family I claimed with their grandmother, who I took as my--- You know what, let me scratch that. It's too confusing. My family tree, you know, is really just an assortment of random branches that were blown down during a storm, and happend to fall around...
I think "nice flip-flops" is an oxymoron.
I think "nice flip-flops" is an oxymoron. That's what I said to Amanda, last night, after the show. She'd brought a group of our professor friends to see my play, and afterwards, as is the normal routine and course for our social troupes, we ambled over next door to the Old Venice Pizza Company, the neighborhood bar and grill, and I stood patiently accepting kudos and the like, something I don't always enjoy doing because it seems so impratically rote, but I endure it all the same - I mean, I was brought up right. All the while, though, I was staring at the Pinot Grigio selections. I was reminded...
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