This is not a post


Running around like a chicken with its head cut off today — say, Mike the headless chicken — and I’m already late.

So I just want to point out this is not a post.

Oh, also, we’re having Hoyt’s Huns monthly dinner today fiveish at Pete’s Kitchen on Colfax.

I have no clue who will be there, and it’s likely it will be only Dan and I, since the boys are otherwise busy as is lovely DIL.  But we’ll be there.  If anyone shows up, we’ll probably stay as normal till it gets really busy and we feel guilty taking up two tables.  If no one shows up, we’ll have dinner and stay till 6:30 or so.

59 thoughts on “This is not a post

  1. the boys are otherwise busy as is lovely DIL

    Please do not forget that the time is fast approaching when that “lovely” adjective will need to be in plural, lest it be interpreted as an invidious comparison.

        1. Res that seems to be the way it works more often than not. Certainly my wife to be culled me out of the herd and decided to keep me. My daughters seem to not have managed to pin any potential son in laws down. Makes me wonder about the modern male populace. Two lovely red heads (as is my wife) and not a boyfriend between them. Always dreamed /prayed for a bevy of adoring redheads. The Author has a rather piquant sense of humor.

          Younger daughter went to an engineering school with 4-1 male to female ratio. They must have been putting saltpeter in the rations or something. Same school was 7-1 when I (and my wife) attended 30+ years and she’d have had to have beat them back with a stick. Younger daughters statement was that “The odds were good but the goods were odd”. A third of the guys (CS majors mostly) pretty much left their rooms ONLY to eat and attend classes.

          1. *****WARNING WARNING WARNING******

            MOOD CHANGE

            *****WARNING WARNING WARNING******

            ALSO, BAD LANGUAGE.

            *****WARNING WARNING WARNING******

            I think the big problem is that “boyfriend” now means “dude I am fucking.”

            I’m sorry for the phrasing, but it hits the actual meaning.

            You can’t even be friendly with a guy without “everybody” “knowing” that you he’s your “boyfriend”– that is, that you are fucking him.

            My then-future husband and I were freaking seriously not even very close of friends, just “someone it’s not objectionable to be around,” and everybody “knew” we were having sex. WHEN WE WERE NEVER ALONE OR HELL HAD LESS THAN HALF A DOZEN WITNESSES.

            It’s worse than any puritanism.

          2. It may be my time here exposing me to this, but I think dating would be pretty stupid for any male engineering student who wasn’t already dating that person before school. And I’m not just talking dating in the intercourse sense, but also courting. (Intercourse dating just seems stupid to me, and I’m not sure how courting actually works.)

            Get the degree done, and then see if a girl you met through school is interested, or date outside of the school pool.

    1. So, the plural is daughters-in-law, not daughter-in-laws. So if you’re abbreviating, is it DSIL, or DILS?

      Just a random thought that popped through my head.

      1. DIL.

        It would be as are lovely DIL.

        In my outrageously arrogant opinion, inviting Nemesis.

    1. But if you attach a gate to a (tall) stump, it becomes a post. At least until it becomes a woodpecker nest. Gatekeepers for the win!

        1. The baby woodpecker would peer out of the nest as we’d go through. Quite a pleasant gate guard. Pretty sure he’s still around, now munching the suet.

  2. I hadn’t heard of Mike the headless chicken before. Roland the headless Thompson gunner, yes. But not Mike.

    Sometimes I wonder what all the strangeness on the internet will lead to.

    1. Insert crackpot futurist nonsense about post strangularity society.

  3. Who Dares To Tell Sarah That This Wasn’t A Post! 😈

  4. Pete’s is a little bit of a drive for me, and I have a reunion thing to go to…

    1. To be honest, three terms in Congress for a chicken who loses his head is about par and hardly merits mention.

    1. And, having run around like a chicken with HER head cut off, I just realized I don’t have enough spoons left to post in instapundit. So, I’ll go to bed now.

  5. I’d have dropped by, unfortunately the commute to Colfax Ave. is a bit of a drive from Toronto, and my sub-orbital space plane in in the shop. Reactionless thrusters needed a tune up and a grease job.

    1. I attended in spirit, but as my spirit form never carries any money I was unable to buy a round of drinks. Thus embarrassed I kept my silence and, not wanting to be “the ghost at the wedding” I maintained discretion by leaving early.

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