I started my morning off at the Food Lion on Avent Ferry, where I did Service-Learning grocery shopping for today’s meeting with the Engaged College Leadership team, and a separate order for Patti’s lab and the outing to hear Linda & Millard Fuller speak this evening.
As the day unfolded, I discovered that they either didn’t put a bag in my basket, or I forget to take a bag off the counter, that contained a head of green leaf lettuce, and a bunch of grapes. Annoying.
I stopped by Clark Hall for about an hour, where I gathered materials for the meeting, and then Dani’ and Myra rode with me to the meeting off Poole Road.
About two thirds of the way through the meeting, I mouthed to Myra, who was sitting across the room from me also taking notes, “How many pages?”
“9,” she mouthed back.
“Bitch,” I formed with my lips. I only had 8. Not that it’s a competition or anything.
I had to take a quick bio break during the meeting, which was hosted by the Water Quality Division, so I found it quite ironic that in the men’s room, I found the urinal unflushed, and the water in one of the sinks running with no one else in there.
I picked up Vivian, my sister, at the Hampton Inn off Fordham Blvd. in Chapel Hill, and we met Robert at Top of the Hill for dinner. We had great conversation and a good meal. It was all good.
At the end of the meal, when my sister and I finished signing our credit card charges with the pens provided by the restaurant, I said, “I love these pens.”
“I do, too!” my sister exclaimed.
I said, “I’ve got to have medium point pens. I hate fine points.”
She said, “I cut the paper when I write with fine point pens. I press so hard it rips through the paper as I’m writing. I hate them. I like that fat ones, with an area like this,” indicating a part of the pen, “where you can get a good grip on it.”
“I do, too!” I yelled.
“Get out of my brain,” she said in a frenzy. “We were twins separated at birth.” We do have a lot in common, not the least of which is that we both like men.
On the way back to the hotel, she told me “the trivet story,” which was just priceless. This was with regards to my constant editing of the world around me.
A friend of hers had some trivets customized for her friends for Christmas. The family name of one of the friends was Miller.
When she went to pick up the trivets, the store had put “The Miller’s” on each of them, instead of what she’d told them to put on them, which was “The Millers.”
Her friend said, “Umm, that should say Millers, not Miller’s.”
The clerk replied, “No, it should say Miller’s; it’s possessive.”
Her friend replied, “No it isn’t possessive. It’s plural; there are several members of the Miller family.”
The clerk, again, argued, “No, it’s possessive, ma’am. The trivets are owned by the Millers.”
To which her friend deadpanned, “No, the trivets aren’t owned by the Millers—if I don’t pay for them. And I’ll come back to pay for them when they say The Millers.”
A woman after my own heart.
Back at home, I devised yesterday’s blog entry, and worked on a crossword puzzle before falling asleep.