The only thing missing from the stone tower resting up against a craggy cliff side along the southern California coast is a sixty-foot silken braid trailing from the top window slit to the rocky beach below.
Well, maybe the thick, lustrous plait isn’t the only thing absent from the colossal structure. A bare-chested dude decked in board shorts, cupping his hands around chapped lips, shouting, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel you smokin’ fox, let down your mane that I may climb your locks” would certainly complete the picture. Continue reading
Certain words in the English language make me cringe. The short, staccato sound of them wrinkles my nose, puckers my lips, and stabs my ears. One of the two most wince-worthy in my book of offending words has recently sent me on a quest to finding an acceptable replacement even though the short burst that thrusts forth from pressed lips when expressing it ‘speaks’ for its meaning.
