We are amused

I saved the book that arrived just days after THIS POST to read after Christmas. It was hard not to fling my face into it, but I really wanted something to look forward to in that week that leads up to New Year’s and, eventually, February – that waiting room of a month between seasons. So I am reading it – The Anglo Files – and I have already had actual smiles on my face.  And I am not an easy smiler. In fact, I abhor times when people ask me to look at something funny and then watch my face for a reaction. Yes, it may be humorous but my mind registers it and goes on – except when someone is watching and I have to fake it or explain, “You know I’m not a smiler.”

I actually had to stop reading and just breathe and press my lips together after she pulled off the Wallis Simpson and “look what happened to her” comment.

But, anyway, my mind is still back in that first paragraph up there – the part about face-flinging; yes, it is a bit off the fling definition.  I have been using the verb “fling” a lot lately. I know how I was exposed: A book describing clicker training for dogs remarked that some eager little intelligent ones would learn so quickly they would fling themselves on the floor when given the down command. I don’t know why my amusement provided a pathway for the “fling” virus into my language area, but it did.

I don’t know, maybe Wallis Simpson married Edward VIII and had a fling. Well, that just popped out; I’d better put myself on lockdown until safeguards are put in place . . . or, at least, little warning signs.