Whenever I hear the lyrics “He led them down the streets of town, right to the traffic cop; / And he only paused a moment when he heard him holler, ‘Stop!'” I always find myself thinking that the song “Frosty the Snowman” must have been a PSA about crossing the street that was changed to be a children’s song at the last moment.
Whenever my family takes a photo together, I’m always tempted to pants one of my siblings or throw a pie in my dad’s face. It’s not that I want to humiliate any of them, I just think that would make for a better picture than “that time we all stood together and smiled disingenuously.”
I don’t know why I have to wait to get my doctorate in order for people to call me by my degree title. Maybe it’s because being called “master” is a lot more fun than being called “doctor” so people would start dropping out before their dissertations. Then again, it would unclog the academic job market a little.
I’m not sure whether I’d call a German-themed amusement park “Deutschland” or “Deutschland Land.” Admittedly “Deutschland Land” is less pithy but “Deutschland” could cause some misunderstandings. Expensive misunderstandings.
The most awkward thing about being in your mid-twenties is that when someone says they’re pregnant, you’re never sure whether to say, “Congratulations!” or, “Take a deep breath, everything’s gonna be alright.”