My husband Michael, who exceeds my expectations, often says “It’s never what you expect.”
It’s never what you expect on Twitter.
It’s never what you expect, and based on that last tweet, you wouldn’t expect that one of my most important posts of the last eight-and-a-half years (and I never expected I would blog for more than a year) is titled “Very Unique.”
Is it never what you expect when I share my photos from the day before?
It’s never what you expect, and I expected to see a photo of the amazing meal Michael prepared last night — delicious vegetarian meat loaf with mushroom sauce, couscous, and vegetables — but apparently I fucked that up.
Here’s what I find when I search YouTube for “it’s never what you expect”:
If you were expecting some music here today, it’s never what you expect.
When I taught at Boston University over thirty years ago, I never expected that one of my students from back then would ask to have lunch with me today. Just a few months ago, I never expected that I would be dining out in a restaurant again.
It’s never what you expect and who knows what comments I’ll find when I check back later?
It’s never what you expect and how do people expect me to end my posts?
Following the logic of iced tea, I’m calling it waxed paper, Ann. Although it still wants to shoot out of my mouth as waxpaper, one word, curled up in the kitchen drawers of my youth, yes.
About that wall-hanging anxiety … After a discussion about a clock we bought in Chatham, my boss turned us onto a very nifty tool called a monkey hook. Works in the wall and on the hanging clock like a charm! Post with the clock to come.