Oh, man.  By the time I read your comment the dog story had been buried by several more people versions -- eating a penny and stuff.  Don’t read this stuff half-asleep; I just sat here for WAY too long trying to figure out how you *ate* the underwear. 

Oh man, I LOVED the Schwann truck when I was a kid! And as a total Red Baron geek (the Snoopy, the song, the mythos . . . ), this absolutely made my day.

NYC is one long logistics puzzle.  I have a mental calculation of what heavy vs light groceries I need as well as if I can grab an easy bus home or not (the train’s a little too far to carry groceries; the bus stops closer to the house).  If I know I have a major list that needs to get filled, I cheat and grab an uber…

I feel like that’s decent math, if rounded a little generously and accounting for time-to-train variance. It takes me 50 minutes to an hour to get from Carroll Gardens to 5th Ave and the mid-50s—I think that’s about 6 or 7 miles?

If I’m in an airport, a few things are *absolutes*:

Yup, absolutely!

I haven’t had a chance to hit the midtown one yet, so I’m speaking purely on speculation and theory. That said, I’m a transplant from a southern state, so my theories around this are pretty good.

I will bring a cheese plate and a tasteful collection of throwing stars.

It’s a critical element for me. Less for during the flight than for post-flight—in my case, a normal trip to my family (which happens roughly monthly) is leaving the house at 4:30am (full charge, but I try to plug in for a bit while I’m at the airport), 7am flight, 9:30 landing, 10:30 get through the airport/get…

As an adult who has worked in child-dense environments, I have sometimes had to approach children who were on their own or seemed to be in trouble. My rule, and the rule that I taught my staff, is to stay a solid step away from the child (out of what could be “grabbing” distance), until you have established that they…

Now you have me reconsidering how I handled the whole situation.

Saving the world, one understanding mother at a time.

Okay, that visual will actually make me gag in real life sitting here at my desk in the office. Thanks, ACP. Now I’m the laughingstock of this office (who have already suffered three days of swish-related ranting).

Ugh, you guys got to OPT IN? It practically took an act of congress to get them to let me OUT. Like, they were giving my mom serious potential-child-abuser shade.

It was a demonic apocalyptic hellscape for the tastebuds, an olfactory assault against all that is good and decent in my life (and my mouth), and each iteration remains amongst the great Dark Moments of my young life.

Dentist’s paste was unpleasant but not actively offensive. (Puking while having teeth cleaned sounds HORRIFIC, btw.)

No idea. For me, it was very rural North Georgia in the late ‘80s.

I don’t disagree on the large-scale public health sense, but on the personal sense, I STILL remember the moment I convinced my mom to sign the release form getting me out of it. Still had to smell it, but didn’t have to taste it anymore, at least.

Completely unrelated, but my (very rural, nigh “hick”) elementary school had what I assume was a fluoridation program called “Swish,” where they would roll around these little cups of pink mouthwash once a month.

You guys . . . read this out loud to my office, and they asked if it was MY list.