Happy Birthday, George

Ah, the stories we have from growing up. A lanky, flat-chested, pimple-faced girl of 12, I would sit on my front porch (the back patio at that point was yet to be built) reading magazines, books, whathaveyou. Always reading. And George, an older boy who I’d known seemingly forever in this neighbourhood, would happen by sometimes and ask what I was reading. Often I was reading things I planned for him to ask me about. He was good looking. Tall, skinny-ish, dark hair… the rare, ā€¦ Continue reading

Sometimes, I am serious.

I know it’s hard to believe. But I am not always incredibly pleasant. There are several things you cannot suggest to me tell me to do and expect me to roll with. 1) Declawing my cat.2) … Well, that’s all that comes to mind. I have no sense of humour about that and, yes, despite being exceptionally easygoing about just about any other horrible thing you can think of, I cannot even find something remotely cute or funny about turning the mutilation of my cat’s ā€¦ Continue reading

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