Three million pages of Microsoft documents, once part of a suit against the software maker, are being shredded and are destined to become toilet paper.
That’s right. Within a matter of days, you could be wiping your bum with my deposition.
As you can probably tell from my post a few weeks ago, my youngest daughter, Zoë, has a way with words. “I can swing my apples” is only the latest in a long line of malapropisms and mispronunciations. Here are a few of my favorites:
For the longest time, she couldn’t pronounce the “Y” in “yellow.” We even tried breaking it into sections:
Me: Say “yell.”
Me: Say “low.”
Me: Say “yellow.”
This one has gotten closer over time. The flying disc is now referred to as a “Frispee.”
Last Thursday, her Pre-K class was going to the zoo. When I woke her up, she sat up groggily in bed and said, “Dad, I’m supposed to wear tennis shoes today because we’re going to the zoo. I’m not supposed to wear sandals or slogs.”
Sometimes when I’m trudging across a beach and one of my flip flops comes off I’ll think, “You know…she’s right. These blasted things are sloppy slops. Maybe I should have worn slogs.”
Whenever she eats one, the filling tends to flop out all over the place so it stands to reason.
The other night she was talking about the various ongoing romances in her Pre-K class. “I’ve got a curse on Max,” she declared. Then she turned to her sister, Emma, and asked “Who do you have a curse on?”
Me: Don’t get too close the edge, Zoë.
Zoë: Don’t worry, I ron’t.
My personal favorite.