Some people I see, they take great pleasure in making a show of rejecting good taste. “I don’t like nice things,” they crow to celebrators who hadn’t asked. Then they sit back and inspect their audience for signs of embarrassment.
Thomas Hobbes calls laughter “sudden glory,” but I have no record of his opinion as to flatulence.
And yet my enemies praise the significance of silences.
Whenever we saw sunshine in the rain, Grandpa said Elizabeth Seton and Cotton Mather were making out in heaven.
Now I am the Grandpa and tell this to the little ones, except I say “totally making out.”
