Letters to Holly

Thursday, December 17

Frankly, My Dear, She Doesn't Give A Damn.

Forgot to mention a failed experiment after the grading dinner Tuesday.

Your Sis and I plopped down on the luuuuuuuuuvseat and activated the magic speakity box. I found Gone With the Wind, and it had been on for only 20 minutes. I again tried to get Your Sis to watch it -- to endure it, mayhap even enjoy it -- and she only lasted 20 minutes. She hates Scarlett so much she can't enjoy the reactions of those around the character. I knew marrying a Cape Cod girl would bring me frustration eventually, but I never figured I would:
a) grow to enjoy the movie; and
b) marry a woman who didn't.


Yesterday, I cruised the mall to find knickknacks for Your Sister. I intentionally made a circuit near the mall Santa and was lucky enough to catch him between kids. I didn't approach him, but I did walk close enough to catch his eye and wave. And he waved back. That made my day.

She's now call herself fat, and I remind her she's preggers. She is definitely showing. Oddly, her arms look thinner. I don't think it's relative to the belly. I think her mass is moving to the tummy. We see the doctor again this afternoon.

She reported that my mentored student earned the second lowest oral-presentation score among all the seniors. The worst grade belongs to his girlfriend.

Picture of the Day
Frustrated by Your Sister's driving, the redlights are ending it all.

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