The Secret Lives of Letters

Can you imagine if the letters of the alphabet had personalities? And what’s more if they were forced to live in a house with each other like on one of those reality shows.

• “A” would be the muscle bound guy who always has his shirt off, sporting the great hair and the ‘it’s all about me attitude.’ Because it all starts with him, and honestly there’d be no alphabet without A.
• “B” would be the cute girl who is dating A.
• “C” would be third wheel who hates A because he’s secretly in love with B. He’s always trying to point out A’s flaws to B in an effort to prove that she could do better. “C! Right there! Did you C that?!”
• “K” would be the quiet, thoughtful one that listens to everything and processes. Most people forget he’s there, because he’s so silent.
• “M” would be the one that agrees with everyone. “Mmmm, hmmm.” “For god sake, M, stop agreeing with everyone and have an opinion of your own!”
• “Q” would be the homosexual one that wears an ascot with his pajamas. “There’s no reason you can’t look good just because you’re sleeping.”
• “X” would be the pale, almost translucent, Emo one with black hair and dark clothes.
• “Y” would be the impatient, sarcastic one that questions everything. “Y? Y would you do that?! It doesn’t even make sense!” He has an issue with M for not thinking for himself, and he has an issue with L for using the lowercase form and looking like I.
• “Z” would be the one that sleeps 16 hours a day.

$75 and a Concussion...and a Sunburn on My Feet

Our neighborhood was having a garage sale today, and my spousal unit wanted to participate. She’d never done one before, so she was very interested to see how it would go. We invited my mom up to help us, and we set about digging through boxes in the attic to find relics from the past that we could live without. My spousal unit also contributed about fifty blouses and handbags to the cause, which probably only amounted to about one percent of the overall total in her closet.

So, armed with two racks of clothes and handbags and three tables full of glasses, books, puzzles, and assorted knickknacks we prepared for the horde to descend upon us. It didn’t take long for the first person to arrive, ten minutes before the garage sale started. But it was quite a bit longer for the next person. After that, they came in sporadic bursts over the next few hours. Oddly enough, the knickknacks sold better than anything else.

My son was soon bored of sitting around and waiting, so I got him a little spade, and we started digging around in the flower bed. All of a sudden, a giant gust of wind blew across the driveway, caught the clothes rack overloaded with my spousal unit's blouses, and pulled it over directly on my head. The metal bar caught me right across the scalp and knocked me to the ground, covering my son and I both with clothes. It hurt, but I was able to shake it off and help get the displays back in order. We moved the clothes rack into the entrance of the garage to keep it from being caught by the wind again, and my son and I went back to digging in the dirt.

We had moved around to a different part of the flowerbed, when all of a sudden, another gust of wind blew across the driveway. This one caught the rack of purses and bags that my spousal unit had set up on the sidewalk, bringing it crashing down...right on my head...in the exact same spot. This time I was assisted by several shoppers, who were kind enough to dig me out of the pile of handbags on top of me and check to see if I was okay.

After that I was pretty much done with sitting in the flowerbed, so I moved inside to ice my head. I did trudge back outside later on to help wrap things up. All told we only made $75 for the event. Not a great haul, especially considering that my doctor bills will be more than that! And to top it all off, I discovered later on that I had gotten a sunburn on the tops of my feet in the shape of my flip-flops!

Poirot on Poirot

What would happen if a character from a book became aware that they were a character from a book?

I had a dream last night that that exact thing happened to one of my favorite mystery novel detectives, Hercule Poirot. Poirot found himself in a library of vintage books of various shapes and sizes. As he read the titles, he commented that he didn’t recognize any of them. That was when the other person in the room explained that these were all part of a never-before-seen collection of books that had been discovered in the author’s estate upon her death. Poirot asked what they were about, and the other person said, “You. All of them are about you.”

“Me?” Poirot gasped in surprise. “How can they be about me?”

“Because you’re a character from a book, something that someone thought up and brought to life on paper. There are other stories about you that many people have read.”

“Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed as the reality hit him. He stood staring at the spines of the book, his little grey cells working to process this information. He began to walk down the shelves, his gloved hand gliding gently along the titles. And then he began to cry. “I am not me. It is no longer my voice. It has been given to everyone to speak for me. And they thought so little of me that they didn’t even care to speak these stories for me.”

We all stood in silence, watching the great detective as he covered his face and sobbed uncontrollably. His entire life a lie.

The Chihuahua

My spousal unit and I were sitting at a stoplight today, waiting for it to turn green, when all of a sudden we heard barking coming from the truck next to us. I looked over to see a little Chihuahua standing on the driver’s lap, staring at me, teeth bared viciously, and a crazy look in his eyes. The driver was looking at me too, and when I caught his eye, he pointed to the dog as if to say, “It was him.”

I turned to my spousal unit and said, “I’m glad he told me it was the dog. I was about to ask why the driver was barking at me.”

Normal Person Selfie

If I was a celebrity, I’d walk up to random common people wherever I went and ask to take a selfie with them. Then, I’d post it on my Instagram account. I wouldn’t take pictures with anyone who asked me for one. That would be the ultimate baller move. Give common people a taste of feeling what it’s like to be a celebrity and be bothered during your daily life. That’s how I’d deal with the stress of the celebrity life.

The Weeknd

DJ on the radio. “The Weeknd liked a post from Kim Kardashian. And while we’re talking about things that nobody cares about, I’m on my 10th cup of coffee today.”