As I'm getting ready to leave this morning (I'm in Oklahoma for a cousin's wedding), I say to Seth:
Me: Well hun, I'm glad you'll have the weekend for your dissertation. You can really, ya know, bite the bullet.
Seth: Awww, that doesn't sound good.
Seth: Bite the bullet means like, to die.
Me: It DOES?!?! No way! I thought it meant to like, ya know, suffer through it. Get it done.
Seth: No, I think it means to die.
Oh SE-eth. I have a little something to SHOWWW YOUUUU!
Please click here. Hurry! Now! Everyone! Click!
Change of subject. Before I go on, I must insert here: I don't know a lot about designer stuff. Really, I don't. I don't go out and try to buy the best brand names, because I've never cared, and anytime anyone's said to me, Oh my gosh, this handbag I saw was amazing. It was (insert designer brand name here), I think: I have no idea what that means.
Now, along with hand-me-down clothes, I recently got a hand-me-down handbag. Designer. Louis Vuitton.
More on this later. But I had to preface for this next section here.
OK, so after I laugh about the phrase I THOUGHT I'd botched and ask Seth to please not tell anyone, it's time to go. I pick up my sheek Louis Vuitton designer handbag, realizing fully the unprecedented moment, and with renewed vigor SAY:
Me: WELL! Me and Vidal are outa here.
Seth let me get all the way to the door before correcting me.
Oh, and Seth? I think you meant: Bite the dust.
HA! Take THAT oh power in the universe that jumbles up all my phrases of good intent! haHA!! One point: FancyPants.