B. and I adore word games--can I get some serious love for Boggle, people?--and we always look at estate sales for ones we've not seen before. This one is the Scrabble Sentence Cube game. Um...well, it was certainly fodder for much hilarity, since one of us (ahem) kept making completely surrealistic sentences (hey, no one said they had to be GOOD sentences, just proper sentences); the other of us worked very hard to come up with normal sentences, sentences easily understood by someone not named
Francis Picabia. I can see why this game didn't take off in popularity...
Oh, and our Christmas tree fell right over...we weren't home, so who knows what actually happened. Luckily, while there was some breakage, no ornaments that I cared deeply about broke (like the ones given to me by my mom or the one made by my Grandma Betty). It was a right mess, that's for sure...
C'est la vie!!!
The last sunset of 2008...
And the last latte...
B. and I adore word games--can I get some serious love for Boggle, people?--and we always look at estate sales for ones we've not seen before. This one is the Scrabble Sentence Cube game. Um...well, it was certainly fodder for much hilarity, since one of us (ahem) kept making completely surrealistic sentences (hey, no one said they had to be GOOD sentences, just proper sentences); the other of us worked very hard to come up with normal sentences, sentences easily understood by someone not named Francis Picabia. I can see why this game didn't take off in popularity... 
2 comments:
Your old hard fly? That could mean a few things. The insect, dead and hard. The zipper, we'll say rusted. A ghetto dis to an aging gangstah's fly girl? The Christmas tree pictures are priceless, deer strewn willy-nilly.
... and those were sentences I let her have!
--B
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