Last Friday, I was tutoring Jing, which means I was deflecting Jing’s attempts to talk about anything but grammar.
Posts under ‘Conserved Conversations’
My friend, Julia, was telling me how she spent the last few months dating a guy, because he could assemble the things she bought for her new apartment. Those diagrams can be tricky and no, I don’t think Julia is any less a feminist. She’s just really bad with spatial reasoning.
I’m at the overpriced grocery store closest to my apartment, looking for some snacks for my plane trip. Aisle by aisle, I unsuccessfully look for the treat that will hit the spot. A store employee pops into sight and I rush to her.
Some of Cade’s friends and I are discussing male body hair.
Me: What about butt hair?
They stare blankly.
The bulk of my tutoring service of late has consisted of helping kids get ready for tests, big tests that determine what high school they’ll go to or if they get into a private school. It’s not the most fun thing in the world, though I know my potential offspring has two legs up in the process already. Well, would have unborn figurative legs up if admissions standards ever stayed the same, which they don’t.
My boyfriend, the philosopher, ponders death.
Cade: I’d hate to get hit by an ice cream truck – those things are huge. I hope that if I got hit, the driver would at least shove an ice cream sandwich down my throat, so I could die happy.
It’s Friday and I’m tutoring Jing, one of the most adorable little attention deficit poster children you could ever meet. We’re talking about grammar when she suddenly remembers something she wants to ask me.