I have decided to resume blogging so as to amuse you during your period of convalescence. I fear that you may try to do work again for want of distraction, and we can’t have that. I’ve also decided that this should be an epistolary blog, as it’s both classier and removes the illusion that anyone will read this other than you and Lumpy.
After looking over your high school reunion ephemera this weekend, I’ve made some observations about life after high school:
- There’s at least a fifty percent chance of finding Jesus post-graduation. (In Soviet Russia, of course, Jesus finds you.)
- Some of those that find Jesus are interested in turning out “Christ-like athletes.” When crucifixion becomes a sport, we’ll talk. Feel the burn!
- Girls that used to be hoe-y (1) become schoolteachers with exceptional penmanship and attractive daughters. One can only assume such daughters have skanky ambitions of their own.
- To be an adult, you must like hiking, yoga, and wine. Failure on any of these count results in expulsion from the club. If you think wine tastes like ass, I imagine you’re obliged suck it up and pretend.
- Wanting to discuss one’s ailments isn’t just for the elderly and infirm anymore!
- Folks, however much you’d like to believe it, dogs are not biological offspring. Fido’s affections are strongly linked to his stomach, if you catch my drift.
- Everyone tells you that after high school, the smart girls do better than the pretty girls. No greater falsehood has ever been propagated. One or two smart girls might beat the odds, but the pretty girls always win.
It’s strange for me to think about these things, as I’m still very much in the process of trying to figure out what, if anything, high school Means. My strongest memory of high school is that overwhelming sensation of waiting for something to happen. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sensation, just an odd one. Ultimately nothing ever did manage to happen. Maybe it’s best. In my experience, when things happen in high school, they’re usually bad…or involve pig’s blood.
Go Vikes!
I remain, madam,
Yr. most humble and obedient servant &c.
Susie
(1) If you think "hoe-y" isn't a word, you're probably just imagining it.
1 comment:
Yeah, Vikes! Go team!
Finally a team I can really get behind.
Hoe-y is a word. I have no doubt. Like art, you know it when you see it.
I pretended to like wine for about 10 years, but I've given that up. However, I still find it to be the ideal thing to take with you to adult parties, parties where people yammer on at great length about frequent flyer miles and no-load mutual funds. Because I don't care about wine, I don't care whether my host opens the bottle to serve now or keeps it to drink later. It's easy to carry, easy to serve, and can be used to sedate oneself in a pinch. It does, however, generally taste like ass.
Lumpy hates for me to read blog posts out loud. I'm not sure why. So I'll leave your posts on the screen so that he can read them while I'm at work.
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