I purchased several boxes of the above excuse-for-cookies. Disguised as decadent treats, they are outstanding only in their mediocrity.
But, they were on sale.
Oldest son was visiting and was overcome with an immediate need for something sweet. These quasi-treats were the best I could offer.
I was trying to convince my son that these were delicious and oh-so healthy. I was looking at the nutrition label when I noticed something odd.
Servings Per Container about 12.
I did a quick survey of my pantry to confirm that boxes with discrete pieces had exact serving sizes. In contrast, my boxes of cereal had approximations.
My son’s explanation was that if a box only contained 10 or 11 cookies, the company couldn’t be sued because they honestly indicated there were only “about 12” in the box.
Lazy quality control? No copy editors available to proof the info printed on the box?
Another one of life’s mysteries.
A friend and I went out to grab a bite last night. The waiter earnestly described one of the specials as: Grass fed beef burger topped with cheese and vegetarian chili on a homemade bun.
Good thing I’m an omnivore.
I have learned, through sad experience, that in a contest between my bladder and bronchitis, bronchitis inevitably wins.
While perusing a bulletin board of babies, I was struck by the lack of “classic” names. Not a Susan or Tommy in the bunch. Instead, I found the following:
But the one I felt the most sorry for was this little guy:
May he be blessed with a thick skin.
I decided to try some therapeutic coloring to foster tranquility at the end of a frenzied day. I chose this particular book among the hundreds available because of the inspirational messages adjacent to each coloring page.
My fledgling sense of inner peace was shot when I encountered the spelling error on the above page.
I cannot look at this without my blood pressure going up.
May I suggest that the editors of this publication practice being mindful of careful proof-reading and express gratitude for spell-check?
Ambling down the sidewalk of an unassuming strip mall, I encountered the above: a small goat wearing an orange tutu and an orange wig. Its pet, a man with a brown shoe, was on a leash. The gawkier, wearing purple shoes (who really had no business acting as the fashion police), took issue that the man was dressed inappropriately. His shoes were definitely last season.