My wife has a list. It’s kind of a long list, but it’s hers and she’s entitled. I think we all have lists. Some of us keep them private; some of us limit them to certain things. My wife’s list is broken into categories.
For example, there is the celebrity category. We do not watch movies with Brad Pitt, Angeline Jollies, Tom Cruise, and a few others. I cringe when a favorite celebrity gets their name in the headlines. If they have done anything to offend my wife, they are going to end up on The List, and there will be a whole new library of films, video’s, or music we will know longer enjoy. Though I have yet to actually see The List, I imagine it as a scroll of yellowed parchment with worn wooden handles. It’s thick, and when unrolled, could easily reach from Intercourse, Pa. to Nowhere, Az. You can find me there, right in-between screwed and lost.
For example, there is the celebrity category. We do not watch movies with Brad Pitt, Angeline Jollies, Tom Cruise, and a few others. I cringe when a favorite celebrity gets their name in the headlines. If they have done anything to offend my wife, they are going to end up on The List, and there will be a whole new library of films, video’s, or music we will know longer enjoy. Though I have yet to actually see The List, I imagine it as a scroll of yellowed parchment with worn wooden handles. It’s thick, and when unrolled, could easily reach from Intercourse, Pa. to Nowhere, Az. You can find me there, right in-between screwed and lost.