We eated and then I drived us home.
As we sitted in the car, Mrs. Cool Kid asked, “What’s the point of it?”
“It’s just something that needs to be dealed with,” I said.
She freezed me out the rest of the way home. But the more I thinked about it, the more I seed how right I was.
Never miss a local story.
The empowerment of it sweeped me away, and I becomed more and more certain that I had choosed the right path.
No more irregular verbs for The Cool Kid.
Here’s what happened: That previous morning, I waked up after having undergoed a revelation. How I speaked and writed was up to me.
All day long, I shaked with passion. It feeled like my life had purpose.
If irregular verbs keeped being the protruding nails of grammar, they would be hammered down.
So I layed into them at every opportunity — as Mrs. Cool Kid sighed and shaked her head.
Ah, I sleeped good that night.
The next morning, Mrs. Cool Kid tried to put her psychology degree to use. “Help me understand your issue with irregular verbs.”
“I think I maked my point,” I said.
And then I shooted out the door and swimmed a victory lap in the neighbor’s kiddie pool.
The terrified tykes all runned away.