“The dishwasher! It is loaded inefficiently! It was his weakness. But also, his strength.”
Said after dinner as the children were cleaning up.
Which seemed apropos, since earlier I had Tweeted this:
Except of course “the” was really supposed to be “thy” because it’s ALWAYS “thy” when you’re ripping off Shakespeare and don’t tell me that I did it wrong, I KNOW that already.
My therapist says that I should explain that I’m using poetic license when this happens and not get agitated at people who might have thought that I did it wrong. But the truth is that I know I did it wrong, you know I did it wrong, and I can sing “poetic license” to the tune of “Oh Suzannah” till the cows come home and it won’t make it true.
It wasn’t poetic license, it was a mistake.
It would also help if I had a therapist to tell me these things, but really I’m just saying them to myself. And between you, me and the half eaten peanut-butter sandwich on my desk, I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
After that, I tweeted this:
And this time I got the “thy” right.
Which I think now entitles me to an honorary doctorate from the Prestigious University of my choosing.
And I, of course, will choose the one with the best hats.
But before you worry that Twitter was silent on the issue, this voice called to me from the darkness. (Pretty dark, yeah. Tweetdeck has that black background.)
Oh my god. At this point, I’m pretty sure the silver pot should get an honorary doctorate from the Prestigious University of its choosing.
How bloody smart is my cookware?
Then however, I got this:
Ok, THAT was clearly wrong.
I can’t do pizza. First, Himself and dairy don’t mix. Second, I got mucho griefo on the suggestion of ham and pineapple atop the cheese.
I offered that perhaps if we listened more closely that we would hear a song of Thai food. Surely the silver pot singeth of spring-rolls and spicy noodles.
Twitter then suggested that that could be true, as the silver pot sangeth off key.
Which, if I were a singing silver pot, would offend me.
But while the silver pot sangeth songs of Italian food and Southeast Asian cuisine, I had a trio of bulbous fruits to consider.
Which led to this tweet:
Which is totally not slingin’ the Elizabethan lingo, verbiage-wise.
You would NEVER baba your ganoush in 15th century England.
You might verily babeth thy ganoushes, but even that’s a stretch.
I don’t think they even had ganoushes back then.
Does this mean I have to give the hat back?