About two years ago, maybe a bit longer, I began to hear about the tiny-house movement. No, it’s not about living in the Barbie Dream House, but you’re closer to the truth than you think.
Not too long ago, there was quite a little controversy when a book came out claiming that roaming cats were doing irreparable harm to the wild bird population.
Sometime around 1986, I began to grow what would eventually become a full beard and mustache. My reasoning back then was very simple.
OK, right up front here, I’m going to say some less-than-flattering things about a rather sacred cow, to some.
Perhaps I need to consult a theoretical physicist. I think what I see every week may be some sort of violation of the laws of nature.
There’s this phrase that’s been making the rounds the last few years that has really got me a bit ticked off.
When young parents bring home a newborn, they’ve had nine months to prepare for the blessed arrival.
Well, the holidays are officially now past (unless the Super Bowl is considered a holiday) and I observed something this year.
Around the year 1990 or thereabouts, I stopped getting haircuts. This followed my cessation of shaving around 1986.
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