Back in 1906, one year after my house was built, New Rochelle was made famous in the George M. Cohan musical 45 Minutes From Broadway. (And 30 minutes from Grand Central, I'll have you know.) Apparently, back then, the place was just riddled with hayseeds and yokels who didn't even have a cafe in the whole durned town. And now look at New Ro! A metropolis on the rise.
This little linkypoo offers a history of New Rochelle that includes the interesting fact: "In 1930, New Rochelle had 54,000 residents, who, in the early years of the 1930s, had the highest per capita income of any city residents in New York State." The joint was rich, and a commuter's dream (the latter still holds true). The place was home to all sorts of artists, including Norman Rockwell, whose work graces the signs posted at the city boundaries. There was a thriving casino at Glen Island, where famous big bands played. It was considered quite a swank destination. Here is more about the city if you care to learn.
But sometime soon after, the "bummer years" hit our fair city, and the shopping cart population began to thrive.
Here I say: New Ro will rise again! Yea, like the mighty Trump Plaza (tallest building in Westchester), our spirits will soar and our property values will shoot skyward!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Global Warming: Yeah, it was invented to SCARE you!
I finally watched An Inconvenient Truth last night. (I don't get out to the movie theaters much; Netflix is my preferred vendor of films both old and new.)
This is a horror movie! No kidding. Any fool with at least one eye, one ear, and a modicum of sweatglands cannot fail to see the changes that are occurring right now. And one o' those polar ice chunks could start to melt any day, giving me the luxurious waterfront property I have always dreamed of.
My favorite part of the film is when Gore surveys a slide of the Planet Earth being weighed on some scales against a stack of gold bars. Hmmm...that gold looks mighty good. (He says.) I'd like to have some of that!
When is he going to announce his candidacy? I hope he is biding his time, ready to spring like a leopard when the rest of 'em have squandered their millions and weakened their voices from constant squawking. Although I am fond of Obama; he still seems relatively untainted. This film is the best campaign video ever made...with not a wit of politics in it at all. He has some real passion.
The good news is that we can do something. Go to the link above and check it out. I discovered that, by eating such numerous local, organic salads, I am already doing a good thing. And one other thing not mentioned is that these salads do not require heat--raw is good! I am part of the Raw Food Movement! Although a good filet mignon is hard to beat.
Here are stupid things that offend me that contribute to global warming:
Asinine plastic fruit packaging that is not coded for local recycling, to protect the poor, tender pears from a bruise.
The deli guys who put a can of Diet Coke into a paper bag for you, with a napkin and a straw.
Diet Coke and its ilk.
The people in Pelham who have ONE spoiled child each and yet drive monstrous SUVs hither and thither, taking up all sorts of room.
Scaredy-cat kids who have to leave the lights on all night. (Aww, I guess I can forgive them.)
Nurserys that sell little plants in plastic buckets, instead of biodegradable pots.
The New York Post. Its very existence.
Packaging for ^%$#@ children's toys that adds eight pounds of plastic, cardboard, and plastic wirey things to a toy which is junk and will be ignored after the first 5 minutes.
Flatulent cows.
Oh, I could go on. How about all those nasty factories burning fossil fuels faster than you can say "Enjoy your watery grave, coastal dwellers!" How about those lard-ass burpers and farters at the Radisson Pool, gorging themselves on beef raised on what was once verdant forest soaking up all that nasty CO2? [My fact checker is away on a guitar mission.]
I am mad, and my back hurts. I also ate one large cupcake today and it started to do backflips in my tummy, after it encountered the antioxident salad particles that have made the place their home lo these many weeks. There was a brief scuffle and the cupcake was neutralized, but not without some nauseating pain. Damn the cupcakes of the world! Damn their sweet, creamy frosting!
Thought: How does one become so evil that one is willing to be a "global warming is a hoax" sort of person? I mean, a hoax to what end? Why would someone bother to perpetuate such a hoax? To scare people into recycling and using energy-smart lightbulbs? Hmmm. Yes, that's it. Those people mean to prosper from the hoax! And if they do mean to prosper, doesn't it follow that...achieving a safer planet might also be good for the economy?
Or is that the Green Team, as it were, doesn't mean to prosper financially, but they just like SCARING people (a la Michael Crichton's relentlessly stupid and boring book State of Fear? Yes! Scaring people is good fun! The best way to scare people, of course, is to put together a bunch of highly scientific data that has to be explained carefully so that one understands it. That is a good scare tactic. That's why horror movies always start with a bunch of scientific mumbledy-gumbo before someone gets axed.
This is a horror movie! No kidding. Any fool with at least one eye, one ear, and a modicum of sweatglands cannot fail to see the changes that are occurring right now. And one o' those polar ice chunks could start to melt any day, giving me the luxurious waterfront property I have always dreamed of.
My favorite part of the film is when Gore surveys a slide of the Planet Earth being weighed on some scales against a stack of gold bars. Hmmm...that gold looks mighty good. (He says.) I'd like to have some of that!
When is he going to announce his candidacy? I hope he is biding his time, ready to spring like a leopard when the rest of 'em have squandered their millions and weakened their voices from constant squawking. Although I am fond of Obama; he still seems relatively untainted. This film is the best campaign video ever made...with not a wit of politics in it at all. He has some real passion.
The good news is that we can do something. Go to the link above and check it out. I discovered that, by eating such numerous local, organic salads, I am already doing a good thing. And one other thing not mentioned is that these salads do not require heat--raw is good! I am part of the Raw Food Movement! Although a good filet mignon is hard to beat.
Here are stupid things that offend me that contribute to global warming:
Asinine plastic fruit packaging that is not coded for local recycling, to protect the poor, tender pears from a bruise.
The deli guys who put a can of Diet Coke into a paper bag for you, with a napkin and a straw.
Diet Coke and its ilk.
The people in Pelham who have ONE spoiled child each and yet drive monstrous SUVs hither and thither, taking up all sorts of room.
Scaredy-cat kids who have to leave the lights on all night. (Aww, I guess I can forgive them.)
Nurserys that sell little plants in plastic buckets, instead of biodegradable pots.
The New York Post. Its very existence.
Packaging for ^%$#@ children's toys that adds eight pounds of plastic, cardboard, and plastic wirey things to a toy which is junk and will be ignored after the first 5 minutes.
Flatulent cows.
Oh, I could go on. How about all those nasty factories burning fossil fuels faster than you can say "Enjoy your watery grave, coastal dwellers!" How about those lard-ass burpers and farters at the Radisson Pool, gorging themselves on beef raised on what was once verdant forest soaking up all that nasty CO2? [My fact checker is away on a guitar mission.]
I am mad, and my back hurts. I also ate one large cupcake today and it started to do backflips in my tummy, after it encountered the antioxident salad particles that have made the place their home lo these many weeks. There was a brief scuffle and the cupcake was neutralized, but not without some nauseating pain. Damn the cupcakes of the world! Damn their sweet, creamy frosting!
Thought: How does one become so evil that one is willing to be a "global warming is a hoax" sort of person? I mean, a hoax to what end? Why would someone bother to perpetuate such a hoax? To scare people into recycling and using energy-smart lightbulbs? Hmmm. Yes, that's it. Those people mean to prosper from the hoax! And if they do mean to prosper, doesn't it follow that...achieving a safer planet might also be good for the economy?
Or is that the Green Team, as it were, doesn't mean to prosper financially, but they just like SCARING people (a la Michael Crichton's relentlessly stupid and boring book State of Fear? Yes! Scaring people is good fun! The best way to scare people, of course, is to put together a bunch of highly scientific data that has to be explained carefully so that one understands it. That is a good scare tactic. That's why horror movies always start with a bunch of scientific mumbledy-gumbo before someone gets axed.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
The Same 10 Questions I Always Ask Myself, Part Deux
1. What are you wearing?
A patina of sweat.
2. What's the nature of today's hypochondria?
Vertigo, and a touch of the cancer.
3. What was today's workout?
Hoisting small boys up and down the stairs.
4. How do you do what you do and stay so sweet?
The blessed, upturned faces of my sweet, pooey angels cleanse my soul.
5. What's that burning smell?
Our grass scorching in the heat.
6. If you were an animal, what kind would you be?
A dessicated frog, lying splayed on the asphalt.
7. What are you drinking, and why?
A bottle of Saranac Belgian White. Water, to wash down the Xanax.
8. In what ways hast thou offended?
I have failed to live up to my full potential in 654 ways, to date.
9. What's the next big thing?
The human race will become extinct in 5,643 years. A mutant gnomelike creature will evolve from the pygmy marmoset, and will gain the gift of language in another 3 million years. They will furiously debate in the existence of the human race on school boards for their future public schools, which will be failing and decrepit due to an act remarkably similar to "NCLB."
10. Music selection?
Laurie Berkner, Buzz Buzz
I like "Pig on Her Head." It makes the kiddies dance like mad!
A patina of sweat.
2. What's the nature of today's hypochondria?
Vertigo, and a touch of the cancer.
3. What was today's workout?
Hoisting small boys up and down the stairs.
4. How do you do what you do and stay so sweet?
The blessed, upturned faces of my sweet, pooey angels cleanse my soul.
5. What's that burning smell?
Our grass scorching in the heat.
6. If you were an animal, what kind would you be?
A dessicated frog, lying splayed on the asphalt.
7. What are you drinking, and why?
A bottle of Saranac Belgian White. Water, to wash down the Xanax.
8. In what ways hast thou offended?
I have failed to live up to my full potential in 654 ways, to date.
9. What's the next big thing?
The human race will become extinct in 5,643 years. A mutant gnomelike creature will evolve from the pygmy marmoset, and will gain the gift of language in another 3 million years. They will furiously debate in the existence of the human race on school boards for their future public schools, which will be failing and decrepit due to an act remarkably similar to "NCLB."
10. Music selection?
Laurie Berkner, Buzz Buzz
I like "Pig on Her Head." It makes the kiddies dance like mad!
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Little Poo-Poo Snowballs With Wheels
On Sunday night, my youngest child flung himself out of his crib and landed on the floor with a heavy thump, which I did not hear since I was on my porch tossing eggs at speeding cars. I know, however, that there was a thump. Revered Son # 1 came to fetch me with the news.
The poor little mite must have addled his brains because the very next day, at precisely 1:30 p.m., he removed his diaper during his nap, pooed wantonly and prolifically all over the cribsheets and rails, smeared the poo on himself, and then...he molded poo snowballs around two wooden choo-choo trains that he had inside the crib. The trains were barely visible inside their doody casings, except for their little wheels that poked out. With said wheels, he had run the trains energetically around the crib, no doubt with "puffa puffa" noises and various other sounds familiar to train enthusiasts.
For those who were worried, Stinky Teddy escaped completely unscathed.
The very odd thing was is that I at first intended to "save the sheets and trains." Maybe this is some deep-seated frugality I inherited from my mother, who saves five peas left over from dinner in a small Tupperware item in the back of the fridge, until they are discovered months later. I tossed the objects in the sink, poured a bunch of Dr. Bronner's magical peppermint Castille soap over the lot, and filled it with water. This was a very bad idea, as poo chunks rose to the surface and bobbed about. No matter, I was busy running the tub to bathe both boys. Did I mention that the older one also had a nasty poo in his pull-up? No?
As I scrubbed the wee urchins free of faeces, I kept glancing at the clock. It was now 1;40. At 2:00 p.m. I had a Very Important Appointment at the Sunoco Station in Larchmont to get the car inspected. That morning, as I left the "Let's Pretend" class at the New Rochelle Public Library, I spotted a police officer in a miniature car pulling away from my parking spot. I accosted him and it was soon revealed that not only had I fed the "wrong" meter (the one that was inside the white lines within which I parked---hello??) but that my inspection was expired. I pleaded, I wept. He was cold-hearted. As he went to pull away, I said to my children "Now there's an example of a not nice person!"
Something within the man cracked. He hesitated. He returned. Very reluctantly, he took back the ticket for the expired inspection (75 bucks) but left me with the parking ticket (10 bucks, if paid immediately).
I always knew, like Anne Frank, that people are genuinely good. Bless that kind, fat fellow!
After an arduous and sweaty trip to the police station, during which my children were run through a metal detector, the ticket was paid and I was on my way to a more successful day. But now, with the clock ticking and a small almost-two-year-old wearing "poo kneesocks" and a "poo hat," I was in quite a panic. I fear the cleansing was not quite as thorough as I would have liked, but I arrived at my appt. with a minute to spare. All was well. Our car passed! We played "Squirrel Family" in the Pinebrook Park across the street, as well as "Fire Truck Crew Putting Out Fire in Pizza Parlor," and went down the slide many a time!
On the way home, the offending child said from the back: "I go poo in my crib! I'm a-gonna do it again!" I feared the truth of his words.
And when I got home later, there was the difficult problem of the bathroom sink. Why on earth had I thought these items were worth saving? The poo was so encrusted in the trains' wheels that only a high-velocity fire hose could remove it. The sink was sadly damaged, a clear case for Soft Scrub with Bleach. I bundled the whole lot into a plastic bag and left it for our friendly garbage crew. Then I finished the awful job of "finding the bits of poo poo that I'd missed earlier."
Today, our babysitter reported that another attempt was made during naptime. Had the wee mite not been wearing shorts, he might have succeeded in his evil task. As it was, he only managed to scoop out some of his doody while still retaining the diaper. I may have to purchase several sets of new sheets at this rate.
"This is disgusting!" said his brother, and I have to agree. What next? I live in fear and trepidation!
ADDENDUM: While I was writing this my husband went up to check on the boys. The older boy had poo nuggets in his pull-up. During the removal, two nuggets fell out. My husband stepped on one and the child stepped on the other.
The poor little mite must have addled his brains because the very next day, at precisely 1:30 p.m., he removed his diaper during his nap, pooed wantonly and prolifically all over the cribsheets and rails, smeared the poo on himself, and then...he molded poo snowballs around two wooden choo-choo trains that he had inside the crib. The trains were barely visible inside their doody casings, except for their little wheels that poked out. With said wheels, he had run the trains energetically around the crib, no doubt with "puffa puffa" noises and various other sounds familiar to train enthusiasts.
For those who were worried, Stinky Teddy escaped completely unscathed.
The very odd thing was is that I at first intended to "save the sheets and trains." Maybe this is some deep-seated frugality I inherited from my mother, who saves five peas left over from dinner in a small Tupperware item in the back of the fridge, until they are discovered months later. I tossed the objects in the sink, poured a bunch of Dr. Bronner's magical peppermint Castille soap over the lot, and filled it with water. This was a very bad idea, as poo chunks rose to the surface and bobbed about. No matter, I was busy running the tub to bathe both boys. Did I mention that the older one also had a nasty poo in his pull-up? No?
As I scrubbed the wee urchins free of faeces, I kept glancing at the clock. It was now 1;40. At 2:00 p.m. I had a Very Important Appointment at the Sunoco Station in Larchmont to get the car inspected. That morning, as I left the "Let's Pretend" class at the New Rochelle Public Library, I spotted a police officer in a miniature car pulling away from my parking spot. I accosted him and it was soon revealed that not only had I fed the "wrong" meter (the one that was inside the white lines within which I parked---hello??) but that my inspection was expired. I pleaded, I wept. He was cold-hearted. As he went to pull away, I said to my children "Now there's an example of a not nice person!"
Something within the man cracked. He hesitated. He returned. Very reluctantly, he took back the ticket for the expired inspection (75 bucks) but left me with the parking ticket (10 bucks, if paid immediately).
I always knew, like Anne Frank, that people are genuinely good. Bless that kind, fat fellow!
After an arduous and sweaty trip to the police station, during which my children were run through a metal detector, the ticket was paid and I was on my way to a more successful day. But now, with the clock ticking and a small almost-two-year-old wearing "poo kneesocks" and a "poo hat," I was in quite a panic. I fear the cleansing was not quite as thorough as I would have liked, but I arrived at my appt. with a minute to spare. All was well. Our car passed! We played "Squirrel Family" in the Pinebrook Park across the street, as well as "Fire Truck Crew Putting Out Fire in Pizza Parlor," and went down the slide many a time!
On the way home, the offending child said from the back: "I go poo in my crib! I'm a-gonna do it again!" I feared the truth of his words.
And when I got home later, there was the difficult problem of the bathroom sink. Why on earth had I thought these items were worth saving? The poo was so encrusted in the trains' wheels that only a high-velocity fire hose could remove it. The sink was sadly damaged, a clear case for Soft Scrub with Bleach. I bundled the whole lot into a plastic bag and left it for our friendly garbage crew. Then I finished the awful job of "finding the bits of poo poo that I'd missed earlier."
Today, our babysitter reported that another attempt was made during naptime. Had the wee mite not been wearing shorts, he might have succeeded in his evil task. As it was, he only managed to scoop out some of his doody while still retaining the diaper. I may have to purchase several sets of new sheets at this rate.
"This is disgusting!" said his brother, and I have to agree. What next? I live in fear and trepidation!
ADDENDUM: While I was writing this my husband went up to check on the boys. The older boy had poo nuggets in his pull-up. During the removal, two nuggets fell out. My husband stepped on one and the child stepped on the other.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Area H and the Alarming Floating Turd
A new trick! I am going to try to tell my entire story of the weekend in VT through song titles alone. You can provide the music. Some song titles will contain annotated explanations for the uniniated.
CD 1: Why Don't I Live In Vermont? [Sufjan Stevens, where art thou?]
Track 1: Gotta Get a Job (in Vermont)
Track 2: I Work Remote, So Why Can't I live in Vermont?
Track 3: Investment Opportunities (an instrumental)
Track 4: Brother Egg's Omelet Emporium
[Our new business. My husband makes a damn good omelet. Why not in VT?]
Track 5: Throwin' Rocks in a Bucket of Water
[What we do in VT for fun]
Track 6: Pine Noodle Soup
[What my toddlers made with a bucket of water, fresh organic weeds, and pine needles]
Track 7: Rubber Chicken Drives a Train
[A guitar/singing jam with toddlers during which a rubber chicken ends up as a train engineer. Things are weird when one is under 4 years old.]
Track 8: "I Want That Gril"
[An ode to Hannah, age 18, from a 3 1/2 year old boy. A direct quote made as he managed to plunge his hands down the front of her shirt.]
CD 2: Area H and the Alarming Floating Turd
Track 1: Our Campsite Is the Place Where Backwoods Murders Happen
[Area H is extremely unpleasant. We fear death. We mix strong drinks. We request a new campsite.]
Track 2: Relocation # 5
{We get a new campsite, an RV one! White trash style! There's water and even electricity, and it's by the pond!]
Track 3: There's a turd in the water (and it's human!)
{We go swimming and see that something else is in the water, too.]
Track 4: Scoop it Up in a Bucket, Silvie
Track 5: Pour the Turd in the Woods, Silvie
Track 6: Hot Delmonico Steak
[What we had for dinner. It rocked.]
Track 7: When the Chair Tips Over, Jenny Falls Down
Track 8: The Boys Go Quiet in the Tent
[The first time camping proves to be quite difficult for sleepy little ones.]
Track 9: 3:00 a.m. Raccoon Invader Stomp
[Something is getting into the garbage. I scare it away with my super high-beam headlamp!]
Track 10: We Forgot to Pack Breakfast: S'Mores for Breakfast
CD 1: Why Don't I Live In Vermont? [Sufjan Stevens, where art thou?]
Track 1: Gotta Get a Job (in Vermont)
Track 2: I Work Remote, So Why Can't I live in Vermont?
Track 3: Investment Opportunities (an instrumental)
Track 4: Brother Egg's Omelet Emporium
[Our new business. My husband makes a damn good omelet. Why not in VT?]
Track 5: Throwin' Rocks in a Bucket of Water
[What we do in VT for fun]
Track 6: Pine Noodle Soup
[What my toddlers made with a bucket of water, fresh organic weeds, and pine needles]
Track 7: Rubber Chicken Drives a Train
[A guitar/singing jam with toddlers during which a rubber chicken ends up as a train engineer. Things are weird when one is under 4 years old.]
Track 8: "I Want That Gril"
[An ode to Hannah, age 18, from a 3 1/2 year old boy. A direct quote made as he managed to plunge his hands down the front of her shirt.]
CD 2: Area H and the Alarming Floating Turd
Track 1: Our Campsite Is the Place Where Backwoods Murders Happen
[Area H is extremely unpleasant. We fear death. We mix strong drinks. We request a new campsite.]
Track 2: Relocation # 5
{We get a new campsite, an RV one! White trash style! There's water and even electricity, and it's by the pond!]
Track 3: There's a turd in the water (and it's human!)
{We go swimming and see that something else is in the water, too.]
Track 4: Scoop it Up in a Bucket, Silvie
Track 5: Pour the Turd in the Woods, Silvie
Track 6: Hot Delmonico Steak
[What we had for dinner. It rocked.]
Track 7: When the Chair Tips Over, Jenny Falls Down
Track 8: The Boys Go Quiet in the Tent
[The first time camping proves to be quite difficult for sleepy little ones.]
Track 9: 3:00 a.m. Raccoon Invader Stomp
[Something is getting into the garbage. I scare it away with my super high-beam headlamp!]
Track 10: We Forgot to Pack Breakfast: S'Mores for Breakfast
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Pimple Popper, MD
I like when I can get in a Seinfeld reference in the very first sentence--nay, in the subject line! Wasn't Dr. Pimple Popper this nutty broad from Melrose Place ? She has a SUPER high forehead and, as crazy Kimberly, she blew up Melrose Place itself! Yeah, blew it up! And she had a freaky scar under her hair because she was nuts and possibly part of her brain had been removed. Oh yeah, I guess she's also in that show Desperate Housewives. I gave that show one try and got bored. Poo.
I know too much about Melrose Place.
Anyway, I saw my very own dermatologist today for my annual "freckle check." As she searched me for malignant melanoma, she said: "You see, skin cancer is unlike other cancers because you can see it! Most cancers are spotted by a spouse, or by the person themselves, because they are right there on the skin! Unlike something like...say...liver cancer, which just grows and grows and creeps up inside you until--bam!--it knocks you dead!"
Oh lordygodohlord. Should I wear a button that reads "I am a hypochondriac! Please do not taunt me!"
She found no melanomas or anything like them. I asked her about my stretch marks (thanks, German changeling child!) and she said bluntly that "only surgery will fix that now." But i much mislike the concept of a surgery that "creates a new belly button." YUCK. I like my old one, and I want it back, please.
Why didn't i wear midriff-baring shirts EVERY SINGLE DAY before I had children? Once I get the chance to go back in time, I will buy caseloads of midriff-baring shirts and wear them into business meetings. I had a great, flat stomach and I should have shared it with the world.
I suspect stars of having had tummy surgery. Don't you?
Of course, one could wind up like the awful Tara Reid. Why did she not choose a sensible one-piece?
I know too much about Melrose Place.
Anyway, I saw my very own dermatologist today for my annual "freckle check." As she searched me for malignant melanoma, she said: "You see, skin cancer is unlike other cancers because you can see it! Most cancers are spotted by a spouse, or by the person themselves, because they are right there on the skin! Unlike something like...say...liver cancer, which just grows and grows and creeps up inside you until--bam!--it knocks you dead!"
Oh lordygodohlord. Should I wear a button that reads "I am a hypochondriac! Please do not taunt me!"
She found no melanomas or anything like them. I asked her about my stretch marks (thanks, German changeling child!) and she said bluntly that "only surgery will fix that now." But i much mislike the concept of a surgery that "creates a new belly button." YUCK. I like my old one, and I want it back, please.
Why didn't i wear midriff-baring shirts EVERY SINGLE DAY before I had children? Once I get the chance to go back in time, I will buy caseloads of midriff-baring shirts and wear them into business meetings. I had a great, flat stomach and I should have shared it with the world.
I suspect stars of having had tummy surgery. Don't you?
Of course, one could wind up like the awful Tara Reid. Why did she not choose a sensible one-piece?
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
And so it follows...
People drive down my street in riced-out krap cars at 75 mph with NO MUFFLERS.
The same people need to be egged, heavily, with eggs that may or may not be organic.
If I egg them, I will need to buy more eggs.
I will also be arrested and will have to pay a steep fine.
Additionally, if I buy too many eggs, I will have less money than I need.
If I have less money, I will not be able to move from this house and go to a place where people drive sedately down quiet, tree-lined, well-groomed, lovely streets.
My children will go to lousy public schools and will become murderers and thieves.
I will spend too much time on my porch drinking wine, and my liver will swell up and engulf my brain.
My ankles will swell up, too.
I will become known as "that eggy old lady."
I will die in this house a broken, embittered old bat still pining for Potatoe, my lost cat.
Trump will buy my lot and erect another overpriced luxury highrise.
The same people need to be egged, heavily, with eggs that may or may not be organic.
If I egg them, I will need to buy more eggs.
I will also be arrested and will have to pay a steep fine.
Additionally, if I buy too many eggs, I will have less money than I need.
If I have less money, I will not be able to move from this house and go to a place where people drive sedately down quiet, tree-lined, well-groomed, lovely streets.
My children will go to lousy public schools and will become murderers and thieves.
I will spend too much time on my porch drinking wine, and my liver will swell up and engulf my brain.
My ankles will swell up, too.
I will become known as "that eggy old lady."
I will die in this house a broken, embittered old bat still pining for Potatoe, my lost cat.
Trump will buy my lot and erect another overpriced luxury highrise.
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