Do Your Ears Hang Low????

            I remember it like it was yesterday. 

            And why shouldn’t I?  After all, Mom looked at me – and then just laughed.  And laughed and laughed.

            Finally, she looked at me, pointing near my face, and said, “One of your ears is lower than the other one.”  And then she started laughing again. 

            Through her chuckles, Mom told me to look in the mirror to see for myself.  So I did.

            Sure enough, once I looked, I could see that one ear was lower than the other.  The only way for them not to be uneven was to tilt my head, but I quickly decided I couldn’t go around the rest of my life with my head tilted.

            And then Mom asked, “When did that happen?”

            Well, gee, Mom; I just don’t know when that happened.  I mean I didn’t go to a doctor and ask to have one ear lowered or anything like that.  I guess I was just born this way.

            For decades, I didn’t know my ears weren’t even. 

            Now, as one might imagine, I can’t look in the mirror without noticing that one ear is lower than the other.  I’ve even changed the kind of earrings I wear so that the “ear difference” won’t be as noticeable. 

            At least that’s better than keeping my head tilted. 

            And I’ve quit singing that childhood song that starts “Do your ears hang low?”

Once Is NOT Enough!

            All kinds of titles have been running through my mind during the last two weeks or so.

            One is the 1973 best-seller by Jacqueline Susann, Once is Not Enough.  Another is a 1965 song (and 1995 movie), It Takes Two.  Yet another is the song The Second Time Around, first made popular by Frank Sinatra.

            Why have these particular titles been on my mind? 

            It’s because I had a hemorrhoidectomy two weeks ago today – and it was the second time I’ve had the procedure done.  That’s because once really wasn’t enough.

            The first time was two years ago.  The surgeon didn’t do exactly what he was supposed to do.  And, no, I won’t be more explicit than that because this is a family site available to all ages.

            After almost two years of problems – following a terribly painful recovery period - I found a different surgeon and underwent the procedure again.  Now, about a week later, I’ve still had a painful recovery but I was more comfortable six days post-op than I was almost six weeks post-op last time.

            So, the second time around has been much, much better.  What hasn’t changed, though, is the substance of the comments and messages I’ve gotten, like someone saying, “At least the surgery is behind you now.”  Another message was from a friend who said she hoped I wasn’t all “pooped” out!

            Yep, even the second time around, I’ve been the butt of everyone’s jokes.

 

 

             ~                              ~                                   ~

Oh, For a Bed!!!

            So, here’s the deal: we bought a new bed.

            Well, it wasn’t actually a “new” bed but it was new to us.  It’s a four-poster rice bed found at a consignment shop.  We waited until price dropped even more to make the purchase. 

            We also waited until The Duppster measured to see that our box springs and mattress would fit, since we had a king bed but were buying a California king.  He said they would.  He measured and assured me they would work.

            Guess what?  We got the bed home and the box springs wouldn’t fit into the space on the used/new bed.

            This was a Sunday night so there wasn’t much we could do, other than sleep on the floor or sofa.

            On Monday I bought box springs (Dupp said the mattress would definitely fit) and they were to be delivered on Tuesday, which meant one more night of alternative sleeping arrangements.  Or “non-sleeping” arrangements.

            Box springs were delivered Tuesday morning but they weren’t the size I ordered.  The delivery guys took ‘em back.

            When I called to get the correct ones delivered, the lady on the phone said I’d get a call to schedule delivery within 48 hours.  Forty-eight more hours???  By the end of 48 hours, we hadn’t gotten that call.

            In the meantime, I suggested to Dupp that it might be more comfortable (than the floor) if we’d put the old box springs sideways across the bed frame and then put the mattress on top, that, too, going crossways. 

            Dupp did just that, bless his pea-picking, Yankee-moved-South heart.  The bed looked odd but was certainly better for sleeping – for a while.

            I got up in the middle of the night to, um, answer nature’s call.  When I got back, I couldn’t get up into the bed.  It was too high. Or I was too short.  I couldn’t even get a knee up on the mattress to help pull me into the bed.

             I didn’t want to wake up The Duppster, so I went into our office to work for a while.  After an hour or so, I got sleepy, went back to the bedroom and tried again.  No luck. 

            I got down on the floor to try to sleep.  Before long, I heard Dupp moving, so I quietly asked, “Are you getting up?” 

            He groggily mumbled, “What?”

            I asked if he was getting up to go to the bathroom.  He replied, “Where ARE you?”

I told him I was on the floor, that I hadn’t been able to get up in the bed and needed his help.

            For the next 15 to 20 minutes, I laughed or giggled uncontrollably.  I couldn’t stop.

            Hey, I told him I thought marriage should be fun!

            And, by the way, he had measured the mattress, which did fit.  He just hadn't measured the box springs.

Famous Last Words - Or They Should Have Been

            They’re famous last words, or at least they should have been.  Or they could have been.

            See, it happened like this a few days ago.  I had to get injections in the cervical spine and, because of the effects of sedation, needed a driver.  (That’s one of those times when it comes in handy to have a spouse.)

            So, the Duppster (bless his heart) took the afternoon off from work to be my official driver.  After all, he seems to have a vested interest in me being out of pain, as being in pain often translates into being “a pain.”

            I’m typically pretty alert after injections.  Since I wasn’t groggy, we made a few stops on the way home, including going by the local Subway for sandwiches to take home with us. 

         

            Later that night, after our evening ritual of “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy,” the Duppster just casually asked, “Did you know you’ve got mascara under your eyes and down your face?”

            “Since when?” I responded.

            And just as matter-of-factly he answered, “Oh, it’s been there all day.”

            All day?  Doesn’t a man know this is serious?  How could he notice this and let me go around with mascara down the side of my face?!?!

            That’s like coming home from church and asking, “Did you know your dress wasn’t buttoned all the way?” or “Did you know there was a hole in the back on your skirt?”

            These could be famous last words.

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This Celebration Will be Short-Lived!

            Boy, it has been difficult trying to decide what to blog about.

            That’s because I try to avoid political topics but at the same time want to scream with utter delight that our state’s  (South Carolina's) presidential primary is past, i.e. the phone calls and television ads are gone.

            For a while, any way.

            Oh, yes, they will be back.  I don’t know exactly when they will start again.  Perhaps August.  More likely we’ll be flooded starting in September and going through the November election.

            Having the primary over with makes it awfully appropriate that we’re in the midst of “National Clean Out Your Inbox Week.”

            You see, the political infiltration didn’t stop with phone calls and TV ads; the candidates and/or their campaigns and representatives filled our computer’s inboxes. 

Many of us were notified every time a local “anybody” endorsed a candidate.  We got e-mail to let us know where candidates were speaking and eating – and shaking hands and riding their buses and caravans, when their spouses were joining them or where the spouses would be speaking.

This week also just happens to be “No Name Calling Week.”  Boy, we could have used that last week or the whole last month or even always and forever.

Since I’m always so intrigued by these off-the-wall observances, I guess it’s only appropriate to point out that Sunday is “Curmudgeons Day.”  The Free Dictionary (online) defines a curmudgeon as “an ill-tempered person full of resentment and stubborn notions.” 

The way campaigns are run these days, the way so many politicians bellow out about other politicians, the phone calls, the e-mails – these all seem to turn me into a curmudgeon.

Maybe that’s why I think another special observance this week is fitting when talking about politics. 

Friday is “Thomas Crapper Day” – and I’ll make no other comment about that.

                                                             ***

PS -- Make no mistake about it; I love our country and I still think we are fortunate to have the right to vote.  Still, I'm somewhat of a curmudgeon with the political atmosphere as it is.

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Yippee!!

Yippee!  It's published.  The first copies of my book arrived today!

Okay, so this is shameless self-promotion of a sort, but look at it this way: the sooner we sell out, the sooner I'll quit posting about this project.  Hint, hint.

What I really want to promote, though, is the art in the book.  We utilized the talents of 18 artists, ranging from sixth grade through retirement years.  The work by these folks is what really makes the book. 


"Don't Pick Up The Ham With Your Fingers" is a little gift or novelty book; the subtitle is "A Little Book to Do Momma's Naggin' For Her."

This illustration is featured on the cover.  It's by Austin Lane, a student at Socastee High School near Myrtle Beach. 






It's a book filled with the humor and wit of a parent's nagging.  So, why do the illustrations and caricatures feature a pig, a monkey, a ladybug and flip flops?  Find out when you get your copy.

Below are the links to see more about the little book and about the illustrators, including Emily Lyles, whose art is on exhibit at one of the Smithsonian galleries 11/1/11 - 1/22/12.

On Facebook

The Book's Blog

Necks, Chins and Aging

This week I turn 62. I don’t feel 62.


Except sometimes.

Like when I look in the mirror and see that my neck isn’t anymore. I mean, there’s no neck there. It isn’t. It has ceased to exist.

My chin and neck have run together. Or perhaps it’s my neck and several chins. The turkey with the wattle has nothing on me.

And then there are the chin hairs. And all of the extra skin where there used to be just two eyelids and two eyebrows. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to open up my eyes because of all of the several folds of skin.

There’s also extra skin hanging around from the upper arms, especially noticeable if I lift my arms up above shoulder level. Thank goodness, I don’t have to walk around with my arms raised up.

Last week, when I asked the dermatologist about several worrisome spots, he said they were “wisdom spots.” Yep, those are what most of us call “age spots.” Then, he had the audacity to use my skin to show the visiting intern what happens to skin and elasticity as people age. There’s nothing quite like being a show-and-tell demonstration for the aging process.

Certainly less visible but just as indicative of aging are the inner signs – the aches and pains, the weak knees and weak hips, and even more.

I told one doctor about a burning pain in the area between my shoulders. He responded, “Do you see the arthritis in your fingers and how crooked your fingers are? Well, that’s the way your spine is also.”

Oh, great.

But I’m not complaining. I’m just sharing the process.

In fact, I would never complain about growing old.

My brother Rod didn’t get that opportunity.

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Sheep and Beer Bottles

Have you ever counted sheep?


If not, what do you do when you can’t seem to get to sleep?

I’ve always had a hard time going to sleep. I also have a hard time waking up!!

Counting sheep doesn’t seem to work for me. I could never figure out where all to find the sheep and which sheep to count. Are the sheep supposed to be out in a field or pasture, just wandering around? Or are they supposed to passing by in single file in a line or in a semi-circle over the bed?

Sometimes I get up and read, or work a crossword puzzle, or create a crossword. Sometimes I get up to do some writing. But all of these things seem to stimulate the brain, so that I’m awake for hours and hours.

Recently, I finally tried silently “singing” an old song: “A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

It takes a while but this seems to work better than anything else. The problem is that, the older I get, the less I can remember. As I try to go backwards from 100, I can’t keep track of how far I’ve gotten numerically. Try as I might, I can’t seem to remember if I just did the verse for 95 or if 95 is the next one.

One night I got down to 53 before falling asleep, but I think I did all of the 60s and all of the 70s twice that night.

It’s likely that on some nights I do the same number several times over before moving on.

But, as long as I finally get to sleep, I guess it doesn’t really matter which numbers I’m doing.

Now, if I could just figure out a way to wake up quickly.

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The Geek and The Piano

If I never play the piano again, it’s my husband’s fault.


I’ll try to explain.

The Duppster – he’s my hubby – is a wonderful, wonderful person.

And, it’s not that he doesn’t like music; he does. He played a couple of instruments in high school and he sings well. It’s also not that he doesn’t like my piano-playing; he says he does.



But, see, he’s a geek. He’s a computer wizard. I don’t even know what all he does at work because it’s way over my level of comprehension when it comes to computers and technology.

Lately, I’ve been having atrocious problems with my laptop. The screen keeps fading - slowly, slowly – ‘til just about everything disappears. I can’t find the mouse. Words disappear. Pages disappear. Finally, the screen goes gray or hazy.

I tried rebooting. That worked for a few minutes. Then the process started all over again. At first this happened once or twice a day. It soon escalated to about once an hour.

Now, it tends to happen about every minute or so, and it’s doggone inconvenient.

So, I thought, what better person to ask than The Duppster. Like I said, Dupp is a geek.

I asked.

You’ll never guess what advice he gave.

With all of his experience and education, he gave a three-word solution: “Just hit it.”

“Do what?” I asked.

And again he said, “Just hit it.”

I did, and the screen cleared up immediately.

The problem is that, while hitting the computer makes the screen reappear clearly, it doesn’t solve the problem. The screen still starts fading about every minute or so.

And, based on the advice of my own special geek, I keep hitting it. And hitting. And hitting.

That, my friends, is why I may never play the piano again. I think my hands are getting permanently bruised and battered.




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Oh, Mrs. Littlejohn, Where Art Thou?

I just heard one of the news guys on TV talking about a weekend event. He reported that a photographer took “nude photographs of men and women.”

So, my question is this: Were the photographs nude or were the men and women nude?

In our high school, we had some excellent English teachers. (Actually, we had top-notch teachers in several areas.) One of the exceptional English teachers was Mrs. Iva Littlejohn, a legend at Lexington High School. She was also strict and she had high expectations for her students. 

I believe Mrs. Littlejohn would agree that the newscaster should have indicated there were photographs of nude men and women, not nude photographs.

Another example of questionable usage has to do with some of those classified ads in newspapers. They can get down-right disturbing.

There’s one that runs over and over and over. And it’s no wonder. They’re looking for “part-time people.”

Now, I know some folks who might not be playing with a full deck and who might seem somewhat out of it from time to time, but they’re still full-time people. Once a person, always a person.


Those folks doin’ the hirin’ might better find a way to use full-time people in those jobs ‘cause I imagine they are having a hard time finding part-time people.

If, of course, they’re looking for full-time people to fill part-time jobs, that’s a whole different story.



Oh, Mrs. Littlejohn, the world still needs you!

Do You Like Your Name?

Do you like your name?

Have you ever wished your parents had given you a different name?

Choosing names for a child is a wonderful opportunity and an awesome responsibility.

I’ve often wondered how much of a child’s personality, if any, is shaped by his or her name; if children befriend others with similar-sounding names more than they befriend those with unusual names; if teachers show any kind of preference – even sub-consciously – to students with traditional names.

When it comes to later in life, are job opportunities somewhat different based on names. Do some names indicate more creativity than do others? Do some represent stability and maturity?

And, finally, if a person’s identity is strongly tied to his or her name, what happens to a woman’s identity when she changes her name at marriage?

All of these thoughts are swirling through my head because I just read that we are in the midst of “Celebrate Your Name Week.”

Not only is there a special week about names, the days in it include observances: Sunday was “Namesake Day”; Monday, “Fun Facts About Names Day”; Tuesday, “Unique Names Day”; Wednesday, “Learn What Your Name Means Day”; Thursday, “Nametag Day”; and Friday, “Middle Name Pride Day.”

I’ve had so many last names that it might take the whole month for me to celebrate!

Most of us like to protect our names; we take a certain kind of pride in our names. For example, my name is spelled “Sherry.” I can’t stand to have it spelled “Sheri” or “Sherrie” or any other way. There’s nothing wrong with those spellings; they just aren’t my name.

Mom’s name is “Elsie.” It’s occasionally written as “Elise” and she doesn’t like that. And I know two people named “Elise” who don’t like to be called “Elsie.”

Sister Christy probably has her name spelled incorrectly on occasion, as do brother Shawn and sister Lorri. Our late brother Rod probably didn’t have as many problems with the spelling of his name, although he – like any of us who have ever been involved in politics – often was called many other names, and not so complimentary ones either.

Ah, a rose by any other name: would it really smell as sweet?

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Do You Spit Stones????

Sometimes it seems that “being nice” to others isn’t very important to people any more.

And we’ve heard quite a bit about the need for civility during the last year or two or so.

But I guess this isn’t anything new. Apparently, even George Washington stressed civility.

Because we’ve just celebrated Presidents’ Day this week and because the 22nd was George Washington’s birthday, I thought this might be a good time to share some of our first president’s rules of civility. These are some of my favorites from his list of over 100:

When in company, put not your hands to any part of the body not usually discovered.

Sleep not when others speak; sit not when others stand; speak not when you should hold your peace; walk not on when others stop.

In the presence of others, sing not to yourself with a humming voice, or drum with your fingers or feet.

Play not the peacock, looking every where about you, to see if you be well decked, if your shoes fit well, if your stockings sit neatly and clothes handsomely.

Reprehend not the imperfections of others, for that belongs to parents, masters, and superiors.

Gaze not on the marks or blemishes of others and ask not how they came. What you may speak in secret to your friend, deliver not before others.


Undertake not what you cannot perform but be careful to keep your promise.


Speak not evil of the absent, for it is unjust.




Being set at meat scratch not, neither spit, cough, or blow your nose except there's a necessity for it.



Take no salt or cut bread with your knife greasy.

Drink not nor talk with your mouth full; neither gaze about you while you are a drinking.

 Put not your meat to your mouth with your knife in your hand; neither spit forth the stones of any fruit pie upon a dish nor cast anything under the table.



Washington’s list goes on. How do your ideas about civility compare to those of George Washington?

Clean Shoes????

Do you like clean shoes?

I’m talking about really clean shoes – and I know how to make old shoes really, really clean.

It happened like this: one day last week, just about everything seemed to be going wrong. Nothing major, but just every little aggravating thing.

For example, I was planning to bake a particular dessert and finally got started with it, only to learn half-way through the mixing process that I didn’t have one of the necessary ingredients. Of course, the others were already in the mixing bowl.

That night, I realized that I had not washed my clothes, including what I needed for the next day. I quickly went upstairs and grabbed the pile of dirty clothes, then tossed them in the washing machine.

Tired and sleepy, I waited until the clothes were washed, then tossed them in the dryer.

Since I absolutely don’t believe in using an iron, I always take clothes out of the dryer immediately to avoid wrinkling, even on those nights when I am struggling to stay awake and alert.

Imagine my surprise when I unloaded the dryer piece by piece and found one of my brown fabric high-heeled pumps.

Yes, it was clean. It was also somewhat misshapen.

And the insides were crinkly and a bit ruffled.

Yep, I’ve got the answer for getting clean shoes, but I have no idea how to make them wearable again.

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I'm Shrinking!

I’m shrinking!


Now that sounds like something I ought to be excited about, doesn’t it?

Well, it might sound that way but, the truth is, I am NOT ecstatic.

This shrinking has nothing to do with weight. After all, over my lifetime, I’ve probably lost a hundred pounds or so. You know: gain a bunch, lose a few, gain some more, lose a few, gain a lot more, lose a few – and so it goes.

My weight isn’t exactly right on my driver’s license. Perhaps I’ve fudged a little on the weight. No, that’s not exactly right. There’s no “perhaps” about it; I’ve definitely fudged – more than a little. But I have never fudged on my height.

Of course I’ve known for a long time that I’m not tall enough for my weight.

Which brings me back to shrinking.

I was at the doctor’s office last week and, as is typical, I was weighed. Then the nurse asked me for my height. I responded, as I usually do, that I wasn’t tall enough for all of those pounds but that I was probably 5’4” or maybe only 5’3 ½”.

So she said, “Well, let’s find out, okay?”

And so we did.

You just can’t fathom how shocked I was when she smilingly announced that I am only 5’1 ½” tall. Where did those other two or two-and-a-half inches go?

I’m thinking that I’m shrinking

That means I’m not getting taller

I’m thinking if you’re blinking

You might miss me: I’m smaller.

~    ~    ~    ~    

I Just Heard It On The News

Yep, I just heard the following on the news:  “A car came up to him and started shooting.” 

Technology is amazing, isn't it?  They're manufacturing cars that can do all kinds of things!

Gr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-rr!!!! This Irritates Me!

In today's local paper, there was a book review.  Actually, there were several, but only one that bothered me.The review was of a book named "The Great Typo Hunt: Two Friends Changing the World, One Correction at a Time" and written by Jeff Deck and Benjamin D. Herson. 

Apparently, these two guys dislike typos - and other mistakes - as much as I do.  So, what irritated me?  It was the headline in the newspaper: "Author tries to correct nation's misstakes."  Uh, that should be "mistakes" instead of "misstakes."  How ironic that there was something wrong in the headline about this particular book.

 

Something I Never Leave Home Without!

First, if you’re reading this and you’re a man or a young woman, you won’t understand today’s post.


Oh, sure, you’re welcome to go ahead and read it but you won’t be able to identify with it.

This is about something I’ve learned to keep with me at all times. I’ve got one in the kitchen, one in the bedroom, one in my car, one in my pocketbook - even one permanently packed in my suitcase.

And it’s all because I’m beginning to look more and more like my dad.

What is this can’t-do-without object?  It’s a pair of tweezers.

Yep, you read that right: tweezers.

The tweezers are necessary because of those irritating, embarrassing, fast-growing appendages called stray chin hairs!

Did I mention fast-growing? I mean these things crop up out of nowhere. Early in the morning, there’s no sign of a single hair. Then by midday, there may be two or three that seem to be an inch or more in length. They grow as quickly as Pinocchio’s nose – and I don’t even have to lie to cause them.

And did I mention that they stray? Actually they stray considerably enough so that calling all of them “chin hairs” is a something of a misnomer. They actually materialize along the chin and on the neck and throat areas.

Just like Dad had and just like on most men. Facial hair growth is often considered a sign of masculinity and virility, two traits that are not on the wish lists for most women.

So, that’s why I never leave home without tweezers.

Tea Party for a Threesome

Me, myself and I. Or is it myself, me and I?

I remember a children’s rhyme about the questionable “threesome”:

I had a little Tea Party

This afternoon at three;

‘Twas very small -

Three guests in all:

Just I, Myself and Me.

Myself ate up the sandwiches;

I drank up the tea;

‘Twas also I who ate the pie,

And passed the cake to me. (J.N. North)

Unfortunately, many people confuse these three pronouns and use them incorrectly – which is such a shame when there’s an easy way to remember which to use when. The misuse crosses generational lines, educational levels, professional divisions.

I’ve heard ministers, politicians, lawyers, doctors and talk show hosts getting the words mixed up.

Here’s an example of something that is wrong: “They brought that back for Jane and I.” This should have been “They brought that back for Jane and me.”

If you don’t remember the actual rules about objects and subjects, just try this easy step: imagine saying the phrase without the other person. In the above example, try saying the sentence without Jane. “They brought that back for I.” No, that is obviously wrong. It should be “They brought that back for me.” If the correct word is “me” without the other person, it’s also “me” with the other person.

I have a friend who frequently beings sentences with “Me and her went . . .” or “Me and her saw that movie . . .” Ugh! This just grates on my nerves!

Yes, it could be worse. He could say “Me and her seen that movie . . .”




~                             ~                               ~

Bugs and Wishes

You know, sometimes education just gets in the way of figurin’ things out and in working out problems.


In many circles, “working things out” gets called something else – like mediation, negotiation, arbitration or conflict resolution. These terms are often used in law, social work, education, real estate, human resources, counseling, religion or other fields.

I’ve taken courses in negotiation, mediation and conflict resolution. I’m even “certified” in International Commercial Arbitration.

But there are some elementary students who make the process a whole lot easier. They use a method called “a bug and a wish.” It’s a simple procedure but it takes a bit of explaining.

Do you remember being in elementary school and telling the teacher that somebody hit you, or that someone pulled your pigtails, or that a classmate laughed at you, or that someone looked at your paper?

Now, there’s a new way to handle these squabbles, as well as others. It’s a practice being used in places by the youngest of students.

If a classmate pulls a child’s hair, the child has the opportunity to announce “a bug and a wish.” The child may say, “It really bugs me when somebody pulls my hair. I wish this would stop because it makes my head hurt and it embarrasses me.”

Or how about this scenario: “It bugs me when we play ‘Red Rover’ at recess because I never get picked until last. I wish that someone would pick me before the end so that I will be happy and feel better about playing.”

The students are introduced to the bug-and-wish practice at the beginning of the school year. All realize that there is an invisible safety net around them as they mention their bugs and wishes. Children are allowed to express themselves, to reveal what hurts them or angers them and to ask for help in stopping the hurtful behaviors.

The reports are that bugs and wishes are working wonders in the classrooms.

I tend to believe this practice might work in families, in the workplace, in churches and in all kinds of situations involving conflicts.

No, I doubt bugs and wishes will end wars but they certainly might help in daily personal relationship battles and in workplace conflicts.

It’s certainly worth a try, don’t you think?



 
 
 
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THIRK Thursday

THIRK Thursdays are things-that-irk-me Thursdays.  There's a different little annoyance or pet peeve each Thursday. 

Today there are two for the price of one, and both usually occur at the table. 

I absolutely cannot stand it when someone talks with a mouth full of food - or even with a little bit of food in the mouth.  It's gross and it's terribly impolite.  Of course, there's an exception: if there's a fire, go ahead and yell, "Fire!"  Otherwise, don't talk with food in the mouth.

The second one is smacking.  That's a little annoyance as well. 

I read about a company executive who always took promising job applicants to lunch.  He made his final hiring decisions based on table manners.  He probably didn't like these two habits either.

Do these bother you?

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Just in case any other blogger wants to participate in Thirk Thursday, here's the way to link up: 


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