At the bakery in the market, the woman behind the counter always calls me “scrumple.” Like, “Whaddya need today scrumple?” “Try this this sample you scrumple you.” Not only is it weird, but it sounds like a baked good, and I just don’t like the insinuation that I have the same name as the things she sells.
“I want every day of my life to look like a postcard,” he told me.
“That’d be good,” I said. “Then you could buy the cheaper stamps.”
I heard this on the bus: “I just feel like we’re adults now. We can’t just go off and start stealing cars all of a sudden.”
Kids will be kids, that’s what I always think when I hear about motor vehicle theft.