Good Morning Gentle Readers,
TWC is not into fridge magnets. I can tolerate the stainless conversion table that enlightens whoever's cooking as to the exact exchange rate of cups to milliliters. Or something like that.
When nobody's looking I toss the rest of them into a drawer. It's wasted energy because they magically reappear within days, sticking 'A' papers, PTA announcements, lunch menus, & last year's rehearsal schedule for Aladdin to the front of the ice box. My dad still calls it an ice box. Couldn't comprehend that as a child.
But this magnet. It's perfect. Now, all I have to do is walk through the kitchen and point. Pointing generally gets the appropriate response. When daddy is happy, everybody's happy, right?
Missy brought it all the way back from London. It arrived in the mail along with an announcement that she'd married her ex.
The sentiment is from Shakespeare's Coriolanus. Act 1, Scene IX. Some have argued it is Billy at his finest. Not me, though, my pretense of culture only extends so far. Google allows me the luxury of wholesale fakery without working too hard.
I am weary; yea, my memory is tir’d.
Have we no wine here?
The man is bloody and bedraggled, you'd think somebody would offer him a glass of wine without him having to ask.