The Slice: You might call them grisly comparisons
Here are five signs that you might think you are a grizzly bear.
1) You keep saying you need to store more fat before you den up for your long winter’s sleep. 2) You refer to your children as cubs. 3) You are fond of saying “Scat happens.” 4) When watching “The Walking Dead,” you find yourself shaking your head about all that wasted meat. 5) When you have a cold and someone asks how you feel, you say “Horribilis.”
Growing up loved: “Your story about lunchbox notes brought back to mind a few of the ones I used to tuck into my children’s lunch bags back in the ’80s plus one my mom used to tuck into our bags in the ’60s,” wrote Fran Menzel.
That message? Complete with artwork depicting a cluster of happy-faced purple fruit, it said “Have a Grape Day!”
Predictions sought: What sort of winter will it be for backyard ice rinks?
Following up: Heard from a nice woman who said she grew up in the Spokane house where I live. She had read the Oct. 7 Slice column about having a dead tree cut down. She said that particular tree had started out as a sapling her brother got at a Cub Scouts event. “Our family always called the tree ‘Jack’s tree,’ ” she wrote.
And more than half of those weighing in on the Oct. 18 Slice column about my long-ago battle with a New York Times vending box said I was absolutely in the wrong to pocket those quarters. (My initial follow-up appeared on The Slice Blog that same day.)
This date in Slice history (1997): If we think of Washington in terms of human anatomy: “Spokane would be the liver,” wrote Robb Rush. “Nasty job, but somebody’s gotta do it. Besides, no one cares about the liver until it’s too late.”
As Halloween draws near: Owners of black cats might want to think about keeping their felines indoors. Don’t ask. Just do it.
Today’s Slice question: How many times do you need to hear someone exclaim “Oh, my God” about insignificant matters before you take the liberty of simply tuning that person out?
Write The Slice at P.O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210; call (509) 459-5470; email email@example.com. It’s hard to make detailed plans for the rest of the year when you suspect you are going to be busy scratching dry skin on your legs for the next few months.