March 1st, 2010

humor, sexuality, confusion

Can anyone explain

why I spent the entire night dreaming that I'd agreed to teach a class on worker's compensation law this coming Saturday, and why in the world I thought I could derive eight hours worth of information on the topic from the material I use for the Certified Administrative Professionals review class that I really do teach?

Run-on sentence is run-on. *nods*
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An anecdote (not mine)

On her blog, Lynne Truss writes about
. . . a neighbour of mine in Brighton who works in a shop where everything costs a pound – a job he does with considerable dignity, I have to say. One morning, as he was opening the shop, he had a very imperious customer who first ticked him off about opening three minutes late, then demanded personal service, and finally complained about the lack of range in the bathroom cleaners. My friend was not rude to this man. He said merely, “I think you’re labouring under a misapprehension, sir.” And then, when the man said, “What misapprehension?” he said, “That this is Harrods, and that you’re the effing Duke of Westminster.”


That retort is, in my opinion, right up there with

Lady Astor (infuriated): Mister Churchill, if I were your wife, I’d put poison in your tea.

Churchill: Madam, were I your husband, I would surely drink it.


I love the precise use of language.