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They Kill You By Teeny Tiny Cuts, Day After Day

23 February 2006

Last night, we’re watching what passes for Olympic coverage on NBC.

Elder daughter (Impera): Hey, look, that skier is the same height as you, Mommy: five-foot eight!

Me:!!! Oof! You sure know how to hurt a woman!

Younger daughter (Trixie): What? Is Mommy taller than that?

Impera: She just *wants* to be tall.

Background: It is a well-known tale in the realm that when the Consort and I were going out, I mentioned that I was 5’10”. Because I was. He snorted and replied, “You can’t be 5’10”. My sister is 5’10” [implication: and you, Imperatrix, are nowhere near as tall as her!].” Ok. So maybe I shrank. To 5’9″. But never have I been near the 8-inch mark. Never!

That’s all I have for you right now, readers. I have a Battle of the Books meeting to run in a couple of hours, I’m getting hypnotized (!) after lunch, I’ve got band practice and fencing to drive to and from, plus I have to actually get some work done in between.

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