I say it's spinach, and I say the hell with it

One of my favorite cartoons from The New Yorker is this one one by Carl Rose, with the caption by E. B. White. The kid brooks no nonsense and is not fooled by the adult. The pithy observation has become a part of the language. Three things happened this week that reminded me of the cartoon. First, my kid friend Niccolo is now in second grade. He hates conflict of all kinds and will go to great lengths to avoid it. His mom told me about a playground fight when Niccolo was in kindergarten. The two combatants wouldn't stop their fight, so Niccolo took decisive action to divert attention from them and to stop the fighters: he mooned them.

Naturally, the playground cops nabbed him and marched him to the principal's office. His mother was summoned. His mom said she and the principal delivered a serious talk to Niccolo about their appreciation of his efforts at peace-keeping and the necessity of keeping one's pants on, even when the situation seems dire. After he went back to class, the mother and the principal loosed their clamped-in laughter.

The second instance occurred when I was at the counter in the store and was idly reading the message pad while I was on hold with a phone call. One of buyers had bought gummi Mexican dinners, and another staffer had sampled one. His note on the pad read, "The gummi tortillas taste like urinal cakes."

The third instance happened when I was working with Perry Thursday evening. He said that a customer came in and was so delighted with his service during the Christmas season that she had to come in and tell him. He admitted that he didn't quite recall her, so she refreshed his memory. She had come in and said, "I need To Kill a Mockingbird." Perry told her several ways she could kill one, and by the time he finished, they were both laughing hysterically. He said she told the story to all her friends, and now they all want to meet Perry.