I’ve swum with dolphins. Oh wait. Those were cows, and they weren’t swimming. They were drinking out of the lake I was swimming in.
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I’m a good driver. At least I am when I’m awake, which is one of the things you look for in a good driver.
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Better for the cool-as-cucumbers crowd to put on more clothes than to have hot-blooded folks going around wearing fewer of them.
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If your area is suffering from drought, just hire me to come pitch a tent on your property.
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I said to my husband, “Let’s dance. We’ll never see these people again.”
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A little birdie told me I need to travel more.
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From my spot at Boston Logan, I count at least a dozen people dozing, despite the hubbub all around. There are three young people lying flat on the floor, unconscious. I can’t sleep that well on a bed in a dark, quiet room. I’m tempted to wake them up and ask them how they do it.
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Too bad I’m no good at sleeping on an airplane. I hope the pilot isn’t either.
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I’m part of an elite group. Only about seven percent of Americans know how to drive a stick shift, and I happen to be one of them. If you aren’t and you want to be, you’ll have a tough time finding a vehicle to learn on, since only around five percent of vehicles sold in the United States have manual transmissions. I read it on the internet so it must be true.
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