Do you feel good about forgetting your pants?

To the girl I saw at the movies last night:

I hate to tell you this, but I think you forgot your pants. I know this because, despite your continued efforts to tug at the hem of your shirt, everyone at the movie theatre got an extra showing: your ass. Then I thought to myself, "Maybe she thinks she's wearing a dress?" It can be hard to tell the difference. Perhaps this will help:

A DRESS is a garment which covers your ass.
A SHIRT is a garment which does not cover your ass, and therefore requires that you also wear PANTS. The pants would then, well, cover your ass.

In case that isn't clear, here are some more clues that your dress is actually a shirt. I'd be worried if people approach you and say any of the following:

1. "Excuse me miss, where are your pants?"
2. "May I ask, where did you get that pretty thong?"
3. "I can see your butt."

Another idea might be looking in the mirror and going through this handy checklist:

___ Shirt
___ Pants

If you see a checkmark next to each of these, it is OK to leave the house.

Do you feel good about lying about your height?

Why do all men under 5"8 insist on saying they're 5"8? If you are, in fact, 5"7 1/2, sure, go ahead, round up. No harm, no foul. But if you are 5"5, you cannot in good conscience round all the way up to 5"8. That is not called "rounding up." That is called "lying." And when we see that you are, in reality, nowhere near 5"8, we will now think of you not only as a short man, but as a short liar. This is not nearly as attractive to women as you might think.

Just in case you were wondering.

Do you feel good about confusing your nouns and verbs?

Have you noticed lately that people seem to be terribly confused about what's a noun and what's a verb. It doesn't seem that complicated, does it?

For example, is the word "ask" a noun or a verb?

Well, let's try it out: "Can I ask you why you have such bad grammar?" Seems like a verb to me. Yup. Verb it is.

So why do people keep saying this: "Here is my ask." When did "ask" become synonymous with "request"? If you mean "request" why not just say "request"?

We have a word for people who do this: "askhole"

Here's another: "Result". Noun, or verb? Let's give it a whirl, shall we?

"We are hoping to see some results from our efforts to improve the world's grammar." Noun, right?

So what's up with this: "We need to result this situation." Is it really so hard to know when to say "result" and when to say "resolve"?

Here's my ask: let's all stop this insanity and we will be able to result the problem before you know it.

Or, in Haiku(ish) form:

A noun or a verb

Is it all too confusing?

Say nothing. It's best.

Do you feel good about prostituting your only daughter?

I would have thought that Billy Ray and Tish could have lived nicely off the residuals from Achy Breaky Heart. And Billy Ray and his down home charm should have pocketed a few pretty pennies off of Dancing with the Stars before the world couldn't stand it another minute.

But no, it wasn't enough. And so, they offered up their daughter. Here's what a 15 year old girl should be doing: sneaking smokes, drinking out of her parents' liquor cabinet, thinking about boys and thinking about boys some more.

Instead, Miley is posing like a centrefold in Vanity Fair, and then swearing up and down she had no gosh darn clue the pictures would be so provocative. How should she know, she's only 15? Well, sweetheart, if they tell you to take off your shirt, you ain't in Disneyland anymore. But then, her daddy was at the photo shoot, so she knew she had nothing to worry about.

Nice parenting, Billy Ray. Can you say "child star syndrome?"

Do you feel good about skipping your shower this morning?

When that nasty alarm clock sounds each morning, we all wish we could just hit the snooze button a few more times. Please, can't I sleep just a little longer? But no, we get up and haul our tired asses into the shower. Because cleanliness is important. And so is not smelling bad.

Yet some people, many of whose cabs I've had the misfortune of riding in of late, selfishly hit that snooze button and skip their morning showers, recklessly disregarding the offended noses of those who will be around them that day, necks straining as they reach their heads out of cab windows, gasping desperately for a hit of fresh air.

We are fortunate to live in the developed world, where water is plentiful and sanitation is an obligation, not a privilege. Be grateful. Get up. Get clean. The world will thank you. And leave you bigger tips.

Do you feel good about making me late, Mr. Crossing Guard?

In theory, crossing guards provide a valuable service, shepherding our children across dangerous intersections, blah blah blah. But in practice, more often than not, the orange-coated men and women blocking rush-hour traffic from getting through are actually doing so IN ANTICIPATION of a child’s EVENTUAL arrival at the intersection. This morning, the child in question was a good block-and-a-half away. Many taxpaying citizens, who, may I mention, pay this crossing guard’s wages, sat, waiting, banned from continuing on our way to work, while the crossing guard too waited for the precious child to arrive. So important is this job, we must all watch. And wait.

Even still, when the pedestrian in quesion is a wee child, I can — as long as I’m not running especially late that morning — see the value in what they do. But when they make me wait so they can help an ADULT cross the street? Even those who were, unlike me, born with patience, have got to be getting a little tense. And those of us who are perpetually late, prone to profanity and utterly devoid of patience? It’s a good thing it was cold outside and my windows were up.

But it did inspire a Haiku. OK, it’s not technically a Haiku because crossing guards do not appear in nature, but anyway:

In your orange coat
You stand there, making me late
In my car, I curse

Do you feel good about the way your clothes fit?

Sure, most people’s weight goes up and down a few pounds. Sometimes your clothes are a little looser, sometimes they’re a little tighter.

But there’s a woman I know who has deluded herself into believing she is a size 6, and continues to squeeze her likely-size-14 body into size 6 clothing. Which is why we call her The Sausage. And sometimes, on extra fun days, she likes to wear sparkly size 6 clothing. And so we call her Disco Sausage.

Why, oh why, wouldn’t you rather wear clothing that fits you? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable? Don’t you live in fear of splitting your sparkly seams? I know I do.
On the plus side, she has inspired a limerick:

There are days when she’s covered in glitter
She wears things she should never consider
I won’t stick up my nose
And laugh at her clothes
If she only would buy some that fit her