A few days ago, Paul wrote me a letter. It’s true. You should go check it out. In response, I’ve decided to write Paul a letter. And you get to read it. Assuming you’re still here. You are still here, right? Oh, good.
Thanks, ever so much, for the letter you wrote. I’ve been pondering your words. And I’ve been wondering how to properly respond. This has actually given me more trouble than I’m used to. I pride myself on being an excellent pen pal.
I had a good thing going with a couple of pen pals in recent years. Well, I had a good thing going for a few months, at best. What happened to those pen pals, you may ask? They kind of dropped out. I would respond with a letter within a few days each time they wrote. And then, out of nowhere, they just stopped responding. I don’t like to assume things, but it’s possible that my final letters to each of them were so offensive that they burned them and purposefully erased my address from their memories.
If you find this response to your letter to be offensive in any way, please, keep it to yourself. I like to pretend that I’m capable of handling constructive criticism but, in reality, I am only able to dish it out. I cannot take it.
I find that I’m the same way with sarcasm.
You posed some interesting questions in your letter. I would like to answer some of them. I may answer all of them, though I cannot guarantee that you will derive any satisfaction from those answers.
First of all, according to a close friend who became very confused when I brought up the issue of empty water bottles out of the blue, an empty water bottle is still considered a water bottle even if it contains no water. I, however, disagree. Because an empty bottle could, conceivably, be refilled with just about any liquid. What was once a water bottle has the potential to be an orange juice bottle. Or a bacon grease bottle. Or a Fresca bottle. So many possibilities.
I also feel with my hands today. And every day. I also, at times, feel things with my heart. Metaphorically speaking, of course. My physical heart doesn’t actually feel things. And that’s probably a good thing. I mean, I’m no cardiologist, but I think that if my heart was actually feeling anything on a physical level, there might be something wrong with it. And I’m just too young to have to deal with an EKG.
No, I’m not with you. You were correct in pointing out that we are in two separate places.
The four way stop thing is annoying. And it happens all the time. The office where I work is just down the road from one of these ridiculous traffic abominations. It’s also adjacent to an elementary school, which means that, at certain times of the day, pedestrian traffic is abnormally high as well. Not that I’m advocating running over children who are crossing within the safety of the crosswalk. I believe the children are our future. Teach them well. Let them lead the way.
No, it doesn’t sound like you’re joking. Because I can’t hear you. You typed those words. I read those words. And I didn’t read them aloud. Your point about parks being only for children and athletics is a valid one, so I’m going to assume that you were not joking. Also, you wrote it in all caps. I assume you’re either passionate about that belief or very angry about it.
Regarding velociraptors, the name comes from the Latin, meaning “swift seizer.” So I would say you’re not far off in your claim that the word comes from combining velocity with raptor.
I’m honored to have received your letter. I’m honored that you’ve enjoyed my series on Disney Princess Date-ability. And thanks for the plug for my About the Blogger page. I actually forgot what #40 was and had to go back and look. I, too, will leave it unidentified so people can go and see what it is for themselves. When I initially sat down to come up with 100 things about myself, let me tell you, it was a job of work. It’s probably due an update. It’s been nearly two years since I wrote the thing. I’m sure a lot has changed.
I hope I was able to answer each of your questions satisfactorily. I hope I spelled satisfactorily correctly. There’s no red line under it, so I’ve at least fooled the computer machine.
So, until next time, ain’t nobody dope as me…