this week

[fox]

On Tuesday, I was watching a Star Trek: TNG two-parter when Himself returned earlier than I'd expected him from his chorus rehearsal. He saw the TV as he came in, and before the door had even closed behind him, he said "There! Are! Four! Lights!" (Not that he has instant recall of every TNG episode, but as he points out, there are only so many with Picard and a Cardassian in that sort of room.) "Sure," I said, "but five if you count the gaslight."

In other news, Body Shop's raspberry body butter smells lovely and warms up really nice on my skin also.

Comments

[florahart]

Kid One kept telling me about the new Mac OS, which is Yosemite, and he kept saying yossa-mite, and I kept saying OMG Yosemite. Yo-seh-mih-tee! Four syllables! Him: But it doesn't look like that. Me: Tough tootie, that's what that word is, like Yosemite Sam. (Him: whom I have never seen referred to in print. It's spelled yossa-mite? Me: *deep sigh*)

This went on for some time, because fucking with it is part of his job and it's been super frustrating.

Eventually, instead of OMG Yosemite, I looked toward the ceiling and said There. Are. Four. Syllables.

He kept calling it yossa-mite.

I started squinting up at the ceiling and mouthing four. four.

Finally he is coming around.

Quotes from TNG as pronunciation-correction tool. *nods*