So this will be short, because I am doing five things at once, and I am mostly preoccupied with two of them, neither of them being the NCAA tournament, which is all my 15-year-old son cares about at the moment, which, given the variety of activities out there today, I suppose I am quite happy about.
MS. MS. MS. MS. These two letters have haunted my life for years now, and I don’t quite know why, but I want to write it down in all of its idiocy.
- MS. A manuscript. I’ve been writing a manuscript in one form or another all of my life. The first “thing” I remember writing is a third grade book report on Winnie The Pooh, which bored me silly. I also distinctly remember a fourth grade report on Ben Franklin. I drew a lightning bolt on the cover. And a kite. The cover was blue. Remember, I can’t balance my checkbook.
- MS. An honorific used to address women, commonly thought to originate with the magazine of the same name, but actually dating back to 1901, in an item in a newspaper from Springfield, Mass., that suggests this title could solve the social faux pas of addressing women whose marital status is unknown. By a freak of circumstances, it happened to float by on an envelope just as Gloria Steinem was getting ready to start her magazine, and one thing led to another….
- MS. An abbreviation for that Redmond, Wash., software company that has changed the way the world works. Bill Gates. Talk about being in the right place at the right time! My word, they think they excel. What an outlook they have.
- MS. A disease that changed my life.
Speaking of manuscripts, which we were a few minutes ago, those are two of the five things I am doing at once, so I suppose I had better get back to at least one of them. One of the other five things is cleaning my office, which has reverted to sty-dom, a sad state of affairs. However, said 15-year-old did tear himself away from the TV long enough to haul some bookcases into my office, where they now sit, taunting me to fill them. They do not understand that I must ponder, I must study, I must worry needlessly over how to fill their glorious shelves with my precious belongings, for their luxurious space is mine, all mine! Mine!