Wednesday, February 14, 2018

The Girl with Pink Hair

February is my birthday month, the shortest month of the year (No jokes about it being appropriate for my stature, please!), and this year I needed to renew my driver’s license by presenting myself to the offices of the DMV along with the requisite number of documents totaling six points proving that I actually am who I am and not someone else pretending to be me. 




And so, on a rainy February afternoon, I packed up the necessary provisions to survive an afternoon in bureaucracy -- sandwich, water, magazine, book – and drove to the Cherry Hill, New Jersey, Department of Motor Vehicle Services. 


Friday, February 2, 2018

What Price Politesse?

My grandfather George, who was often less than sober, was never less than polite to and cooperative with the local constabulary, who frequently escorted him home.  Even in his cups he was such a gentleman that no one ever laid a finger on him. 



I was raised to mind my manners and be polite to everyone, especially my elders and my betters, but no one ever said I had to be nice to everyone.  Imagine being expected to be nice to everyone all the time.  That’s too much of a strain on anyone’s nervous system, particularly today when the barbarians have gotten past the gate. 


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