My chair is rattling lustfully to the rhythm of the pile driver that is at work on the foundation of a new footbridge two blocks away. This is I think day four of all-day pile driving. At first it was an amusing novelty and opportunity for many ribald jests, but the bloom has come off the rose. I wonder just how many piles remain to be driven, and how many pile driver operators go mad every year.
In other news, today I discovered that an excellent way to avoid toddler transition distress over leaving the playground is for said toddler to bonk her head -- not too seriously, just enough to require a little cuddling comfort -- about two minutes before one was hoping to depart. Alas for the poor recipient of the headbonk, but the end result was indisputably ideal overall. No pile drivers were involved.
And finally, I think you will enjoy this comment thread all about worst presents ever received. For example:
My grandmother gave me a horrible Christmas present when I was about eight: a fat, ceramic pig, when wound up, played "Everyone is Beautiful, In Their Own Way..." What are you trying to say, grandma? I should lay off the Girl Scout cookies?