Chicklets, it’s finally storming, a giant exhale after a week of alarming weather (Are you there, Kyoto? It’s me Margaret.). I can now speak and write whereas I had until recently been reduced to communicating via sighs and grunts while at home, where the air-conditioner is broken. Food tastes good again. Human contact is tolerable.
The sad result of this molasses heat wave is that I haven’t seen nor spoken to Lily or Lulu so I am sorely lacking in the hijinks department. I will, however, tell you about a bitchin’ press release written by a friend of mine about some research that shows that instant messaging is in fact not threatening teens’ grasp of grammar. It turns out that texting may even make them better grammarians. Who knew? The Toronto Star ran an interesting story on the results.
You know my fondness for both slang and teenagers. Too bad I’m forever parked in the “bitchin’” and “gag me” rut. I’m showing my age, Chicklets. It’s 100 degrees in my house and I’m old.