Did you know in some countries when a man marries a woman he must carry her to his home after the ceremony?
This is what an African man Casandra and I recently met told us. He was sitting by himself at a bar in our neighborhood, drinking Pabst draft, and a big smile came across his face when he saw us.
He was a bit odd, but who isn’t?
The year was 2047 and the government continued to squeeze the dry lemon of liberty, squeezing and squeezing, praying that no one would ask for more lemonade.
But of course no one would.
The last lemonade stands had closed because no one drank lemonade anymore. No one cared about it because they preferred the combined slow and painful effects of dehydration and prime time television.
It was a hopeless situation really.
If you don’t, I don’t care, I’ll pull down your underwear!
Today I find myself remembering what Halloween was like as a kid.
I don’t really recall my first experience going trick or treating, but I’ve been told the story a thousand times by my Mom.
If it can be pickled I’ll surely love it.
I’ve always been a huge fan of all things pickled. Polish dill pickles, kosher dill pickles, pickled eggs and pickled peppers.
Maybe it’s my Eastern European heritage, or maybe it’s simply the taste, but who doesn’t like a food soaked in vinegar for months with added spices?
Sometimes wit and wisdom are shared in the grocery line, and if one is lucky, they’ll be there to hear it.
As I waited to purchase some food an older man was gabbing with the checkout clerk. He was a burly guy, likely a biker and possibly a Vietnam Veteran. But his big stature didn’t conceal that he had an equally big heart and gigantic sense of humor.