"There are all sorts of things to do." I say. "There's washing dishes, taking out the garbage, laundry, sweeping the kitchen."

We are at the kitchen table eating dinner. As children do, Lisa has dropped some small bit of food onto the table by her plate. As parents do, I absent mindedly pick it up, and to deal with

Read the e-mail on its merits, Google. Mr. Slaughter addresses me as `Dear'. Would a murderer do that?

Putting hazard lights on does not give you free reign to block traffic as you will!

"Where's my wallet?!?" I check my pockets, but it isn't there. It's never there. Someone keeps cutting holes in my pockets.

The ululation has broken my concentration. "Ululate this!" I think to the smug insects. Then realising what they are ululating, "It's too damned hot."

There are some inconsistencies in my theory though. Perhaps I have not properly codified my family's misconceptions regarding the fridge. They do not fully explain my family's behaviours.

She is watching a fellow in a suit and running shoes give a speech, while I am watching dancers on a boat. "Is it Seinfeld?" I ask my mom of the man.