Ah, I just love a good debate, don’t you? As long as it’s the nice kind of debate…like the kind of debate you have in Sunday School about whether the handle of the Big Dipper goes up or down.
No, really, we had a huge discussion about this in Sunday School once. I was rather put out when my end of the debate was proven wrong through a photo of the silly constellation on someone’s iPod.
But if you think that a full-fledged argument about the handle of the Big Dipper is ridiculous, you should have been there the time when we were debating about the number of 10s on a ten dollar bill. No, there actually aren’t only ten 10s on a ten dollar bill. For instance, here’s one thing about the ten dollar bill I just bet you didn’t know: the words “United States of America” are written on George Washington’s collar.
But actually, if you know your ten dollar bills, you’ll realize that it isn’t George Washington’s face, it’s Alexander Hamilton’s. And, to my knowledge, nothing is written on either George Washington’s collar or Alexander Hamilton’s. But I bet you could find hundreds more 10s than you ever dreamed of on a ten dollar bill.
All that to say that it was a very interesting subject of debate we had in Sunday School.
Most of the debates that go on in our home never really get solved. Each person just goes on thinking whatever they thought before the energetic conversation [aka, argument] started.
For instance, the one about Mayo.
Half of the family loves Mayo, and the other half thinks they like Miracle Whip. You might call us a house divided on that subject. I’m on the lucky half that likes Mayo. Well, I like it other than the smell. Eating a sandwich that smells like my brother’s dirty socks isn’t altogether enjoyable, but that’s only when the Mayo has been left in the back of the fridge for six months.
Then there’s the pickup truck thing.
I used to think “pickup truck”. (That was a loooooooooong time ago). It got too confusing to say just plain “truck”, because Dad was a truck driver and the semi trucks had already been shortened to that name.
And “pickup”…well, that’s lame.
So it was pickup truck to the little Chicago-born kids that got a heart attack every time they saw a lady driving one o’ them “pickup trucks”. In Nebraska, this is commonplace (to see a lady in a truck, I mean). It was rare in Illinois.
And what about lunch and dinner? Which do you say?
We say lunch.
Dinner is way too…dignified, shall I say? That’s the word saved for fancy meals on Sundays. And lunch is most certainly better than “luncheon”. That was used way back in the Nancy Drew era. Sounds too tea-partyish if you ask me. Which I know you didn’t, but still.
how about you?
Mayo or Miracle Whip? Lunch or dinner? Pickup truck, pickup, or just plain truck?
But that’s only the beginning.
I could tell you about that debate we had during family devotions about what the difference is between the sea and the ocean…