Really, I think that I am a remarkably easy woman to please, and back to my Stranger in the Afternoon who wanted to knit but didn’t have the space, I am flabbergasted at the barriers people put up in the way of getting things done — and I don’t mean walls that block out front doors.
Progeny of mine, you know Thongs as Flip Flops, and a G-string is not something you find on the guitar. It is best not to wear flip flops to a White House function, and as to wearing a thong there, do not do so in your hair, and do not discuss the other way of wearing it over pre-dinner cocktails (which, come to think of it, you are too young to partake of anyway).
And before it be pointed out that there are far more serious issues to contemplate than invisible demarcation lines on plastic cups, allow me to observe that these lines — or lack of thereof — are a symptom of a larger issue:
Being forthright and honest. Or not.
Saturday afternoon found me trolling through the establishments of our little town, looking for loose tea, which, obviously, was not in the lumber store, the old fashioned department store (we actually have one of those), or the feed store; neither was it, however, in the grocery store.
Now as all of you with mothers know, the maternal instinct is hardwired to instill manners in our progeny — by example, by non-stop reminding, by force if necessary — and my personal preference is to set before my charges the image of a state dinner at the White House, prefacing each example with,