Ha! He blamed that one on the dog. Sweet.
If you’re in the mood for a funny, quirky, fun read, you could certainly do worse than The Rosie Project.
Don Tillman is a Sheldon Cooperish, socially-challenged genetics professor who embarks on a quest to find a suitable wife. This endeavor naturally involves a sixteen-page questionnaire to weed out undesirables - smokers, vegans, the habitually tardy, those with ice cream flavor preferences, etc. Then Rosie enters his life and soon Don is slinging cocktails, ballroom dancing, and the Standardized Meal System is thrown out the window.
Sure, it’s basically a rom-com in book form, but I found it humorous, clever and charming - the perfect antidote to the Margaret Atwood downer I read previously.
Sydney puts on her pants zero leg at a time.
Je t’aime parce que tu es adorable. Ça va?
Merci pour votre attention.
She plants herself in the middle of our bed and growls when either of us moves.
Nervy little shit.
She is so much a part of my life, of me. Damn, I love her so.
Back at work with all my helpers.
And the Benadryl I took to help me sleep is locked in a winner-take-all cage match with the Sudafed I took to help me breathe. The Sudafed cheated by tagging in the eighty-seven cups of tea I’ve drunk to soothe my throat.
I fear that this is my comeuppance for the smug superiority I have felt as the only person in my office who hasn’t had the death-flu at least twice this winter. You might want to unfollow me for the next few days. There will be whining.
When the bridge falls down, you can make great fishing piers.
It’s not a tumor.
What would Hollywood’s most revered icons actually look like if they were heavily inked?
Click photo for the story and more images.
I owe you an email and a check for eighty-six cents.