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Saturday, April 23, 2016

Mustang Sally . . .

I love words, love to bury my head in their hellacious awesomeness and inhale deeply . . .

I work in an industry where I am blessed with colleagues who feel similarly, but also cursed with copy writers who have never heard a cliche they don't want to buy a drink and take home.

Yesterday, I got to play with two 8-year-olds and try to help them love words also. We started with "Where The Wild things Are," moved on to them creating their own wild things and describing them to me. Ended up throwing/bouncing a Swiss Ball to each other while going through the alphabet with animal names (no, Giraffe can't be both "g" and "j").

I also asked them to name my motorcycle, which has been sadly nameless, despite them calling their wild things the most boring white folk names of Lisa and Tom. (Sorry Lisa and Tom, I don't mean you!)

They called her Sally, which I also thought a little dull, but I can't get "Mustang Sally" out of the soundtrack of my mind today.

"All you want to do is ride around Sally, ride, Sally, ride . . . "

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