When I say “never” these days, I have to question my veracity. I’ve learned this about myself through the years. The “nevers” started way back when. In seventh grade, I remember that friends and I were discussing a couple of mothers we knew; they dyed their hair. Shocking! I swore I would never do such a thing. A few years later, I expressed my opinion that saddle shoes—remember those sturdy black and white shoes?—were ugly. I became a cheerleader who wore them and loved them. Never would I cut my hair; I did. Never would I pierce my ears; I did. Never would a touch of alcohol touch my lips; it did. The list goes on and on.
As married adults, my husband and I moved from Madison to Novato, CA, claiming that we’d never move again. We moved back. Five years later, we moved from Madison to Cincinnati, claiming that we’d never move again. We moved back. Now my husband claims we’ll never move again. I’m just not so sure. At any rate, there’d better be a darn good reason.
You just never know, I may start twittering. Or is that tweeting? Anyway, there’s something I need to do first: remember to take my cloth bags with me into the grocery store. If I don’t, people may get the wrong impression. I’m not saying they’ll question my commitment to conservation; everyone knows I’m the biggest recycling nut around. I’m talking, instead, of a more personal issue. I may be forced to answer the question “Paper or plastic?” in the same way as the author does in the e-mail joke making its rounds.