Haven’t done family phrases in a while, but here’s one I like.
“Years ago I was reading a billboard which had letters spaced far apart,” wrote Joan Nolan of Spokane Valley. “I asked, ‘What are anti-cues?’
“Only after my daughter broke out in a fit of laughter did I realize the word was ‘antiques.’ From that moment on we have referred to antiques as anti-cues.”
Writing for the minority: Left-handers Gary W. Smith and Duane Emery noted that once upon a time all classroom desks (at least the ones at their schools) were designed for right-handers.
Advice for my S-R colleague who is a newly minted American citizen: Ann Murphy and Mary Wissink said her first order of business should be registering to vote.
A teachers’ lounge memory: “The teachers’ lounge at Garfield Elementary was the boiler room, located in the bowels of the basement,” wrote John Kenney.
He was a student there in the 1950s. From the third grade on, he had the job of occupying the principal’s office during lunch. His assignment was to answer the school’s one phone. Sometimes he had to summon a teacher from the aforementioned bowels.
“The room was hot, and probably a lot like a scene from Dante’s ‘Inferno,’ only just with the heavy cloud of smoke. No flames, as I recall.”
Slice answer: “If I went on a crime spree, the police would call me ‘Hot Wheels’ because I use a customized wheelchair,” wrote Pam Braun.
She described it as “toxic green and black” with zebra stripes. “That’s the way I roll.”
Feedback: “Your otherwise thorough column on the vagaries involved in shopping for and buying children’s clothes had one glaring omission,” wrote Ken Yuhasz, a Spokane artist.
I failed to mention Catholic school uniforms.
“Wearing the badges of our parochial education eliminated the need for much of a wardrobe involving cutting-edge design.”
Today’s Slice question: Were you a crossing guard as a kid?