Little Things Noticed.

There’s a shop in Wuttuc’s homestead that sells a variety of those wall adornments that have jokes on them. I call them jokes for want of a better term, but here’s an example:

My husband said it was me or the cat.

I miss him sometimes.

Let’s face it, such an utterance isn’t likely to cause you to rupture anything, is it? And that was one of the better ones. The point is this:

Even a good joke is usually only funny at the first – or maybe second if it’s a bit subtle – time of hearing (the white-horse-called-Kevin joke is a rare exception.) And it’s pretty obvious that bad jokes don’t mature and become funny with successive readings. So why do people buy them?

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I saw a big, nearly new Mercedes park up (illegally) at the side of the road. It wasn’t as ugly as the big, nearly new Ferrari I saw on Wednesday, but the driver was pretty gross. I’m beginning to detect a connection between posh cars and ugliness.