The fuzz

Great things happen when you wear a black shirt that miraculously and constantly produces clumps of fuzz. You get them all over your own pants and then do not have a lint brush. Or you hug a friend who is wearing a white collared shirt and smash them onto him. Or they get caught on his whiskers. (It seems like an intense hug when I'm describing it like this. It wasn't.) Or you're in the middle of an important, quasi-grown-up meeting and you end up with one lingering on your own upper lip.

It looks like I may actually have a(nother) career (and by career I mean one-time gig) starting soon. It rhymes with "Lopera Mextra" or "Bloopers." See answer key below.*

Just now, Beth and I had a convo about whether or not people fight on Facebook, as follows...

Me: Via (pronounced 'Vee-ah') Facebook?
Beth: Via (pronounced 'Vy-ah') Facebook.
(pause)
Beth: Which one's right: Vee-ah or Vy-ah?
Me: Let me look it up (opening laptop dictionary). It's either (pronouced: I-ther), actually.
Beth: Eether?


Who needs TV when you have phonetics?


* It's "Opera Extra." They're commonly called "Supers."