I’ve heard of a sandwich called a “hypocrite”. It’s a veggie burger with bacon.
Just because things could be worse doesn’t make them good. I’m tired of people being dismissive of others’ problems just because they’re not the worst imaginable.
(That said, I’m also tired of people who whine over the stupidest crap, like the office no longer providing flavored creamer for coffee. And yes, people are seriously complaining about that at my office.)
I tried to be an outsider, but I didn’t fit in.
I think this was double-reverse psychology on Phoebe’s part. She actually wanted to go to the dance, but didn’t want to look like she wanted to go. So she manipulated her mother into manipulating her into going. Now she can be one with the crowd while rebelling.
Never go to Procrustes’ Shoe Store.
My mother’s temper was also unconditional. Whether I did anything or not, she got mad at me.
I keep my thermostat at a tolerable-but-not-comfortable level (66F). Then I put on an extra shirt, or if that’s not enough, I turn on a space heater to heat up just the room I’m actually in.
That was an order, Jon. “You must be thrilled to see me!”
No representation without taxation!
In the strip “Phoebe and Her Unicorn”, Marigold’s horn is a Wi-Fi hotspot.