Fancy-Schmancy

It's once again that time of year when I bring out my fancy-schmancy manners and take them to a variety of fancy-schmancy affairs.

Of all the fancy-schmancy invitations that I received this season, one particularly stood out to me. It stood out for three reasons.

One. The invitation kept stressing that it was a semi-formal event. Does anyone actually know what "semi-formal" means? If someone says an event is semi-formal, then you know you shouldn't dress formally, but you also shouldn't dress casually. So that means you dress...how? There's a lot of room in between casual and formal. Should you dress more on the senior prom side? Or should you dress as informally as possible and wear only one dressy item such as high heels or a cravat? Or perhaps you should split the difference and arrive in your church clothes.

Two. It said that upon attending, I would receive a license plate frame. I really wanted a license plate frame, and I hoped I was not being played false.

Three. The invitation also informed me there would be alcohol, including a champagne toast.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Now, I must say that I have been around people who are drinking before. It's not my favorite, but I've made it work. So I was not so much concerned by the fact that there would be alcohol at this event as I was by the fact that I had no idea what was the fancy-schmancy manners social cue for, "Please don't pour alcohol in my glass. I don't drink."

For some reason, the etiquette lessons I'd received as a teenager did not include that particular signal.

I spent a long time before the event, trying to think what the appropriate way to handle the situation might be.

I thought about asking the server to remove my alcohol glass.

I thought about producing bottled water from my semi-formal attire that I would then pour into my alcohol glass with a flourish.

I thought about jumping to my feet as soon as the server filled my glass and yelling, "HOW DARE YOU BE SO PRESUMPTUOUS. I. DON'T. DRINK!!!" And then pouring it all on the floor.

Nothing seemed quite right, so I decided to wait and hope that the right etiquette would magically manifest itself to me.

Upon arriving at this semi-formal event, I saw people who were dressed more on the senior prom side, people who were wearing jeans and button-down shirts, and people who had apparently split the difference and arrived in their church clothes.

"Awkward Mormon Girl knows what to wear when it's semi-formal," someone said appreciatively, and I silently congratulated myself on attaining the mystical state of semi-formalism. I had accomplished this by wearing a blue dress of Little Sister's that was short enough to not be too formal but made out of fancy materials like lace and a fabric I want to call taffeta (but it probably isn't. I just assume every stiff fabric I meet is taffeta).

"By the way," that same someone said, "there's Martinelli's at the bar."

This announcement made me feel even more pleased than I already was. Bar = no ambiguous etiquette crises with servers about alcohol and Martinelli's = delicious decadent soda. The only thing that put a damper on my pleasure was the fact that there were no license plate frames in sight.

That pleasure was further dampened when I was seated and saw that there was indeed a glass for alcohol at every place setting. The champagne toast would be poured by servers at the end of the evening.

My meal was delicious, and the company at my table was excellent, but alas. The whole time, a part of me was distracted, once again wondering what would be the best way to express that I didn't want a champagne toast, thank you.

As we polished off our fancy-schmancy desserts, servers started to make their rounds with bottles of champagne. This was it. This was the moment of truth.

"Champagne?" they asked my table-mates, one by one.

"Yes, please," said my table-mates.

There must be a social cue for this situation I thought if only I could think of the right one. Think, Awkward Mormon Girl, think.

"Would you like any champagne?" a server asked the girl two people away from me.

"No thank you," the girl said.

That's a good way to handle it, I thought. But instead of following suit, I shot out my hand and quickly turned over my champagne glass with a loud clunk.

And then asked myself, "Why? Why did you just feel the need to do that?"

Everyone around me acted like they hadn't seen anything. The server, with confused-seeming pauses, asked if I wanted any champagne and allowed me the chance to graciously decline. My table-mates said nary a word about my overturned glass.

In spite of this kindness, I spent the next fifteen minutes feeling embarrassed to be in the same skin as myself and vowing not to go to another semi-formal event as long as I lived.

Then the license plate frames were distributed, and in my rapture I promptly forgot about the whole thing.

Even More College Quotes

They're back. They'll make you laugh, they'll make you cry, they'll make you wonder if I've actually learned anything in the past four years.

Here they are, funny and insightful quotations lifted from the margins of my notes--the junior year edition of college quotes!

Once again, I must disclaim by saying that these are all the words of others. My own personal viewpoints, opinions, and sense of humor may vary from that here portrayed.

“Take a class from [Professor] or she’ll kill you. Or I’ll kill you. Or something like that.”

“His area of expertise is the Russian legal system… That must’ve been one short dissertation.”

“I don’t know why I sometimes pick on France, I just do.”

“When was the last time you heard of a French comedian?”

“We’re small, but mediocre.”

“I don’t take much seriously. That’s how I can be a historian.”

“I’ll give you the shirt off my back—-not this one, I like it.”

“A dog wouldn’t befriend these horses like he would a horse in a Budweiser commercial.”

“I’m drooling because I’m upset with the image.”

“Will the tsar have a baby? And will the baby survive or will a dingo eat your baby?”

“I was so excited I called all my friends last night. Not a one of them called me back.”

“You know, defacing things is really one of my favorite pastimes.”

About Russia: “We don’t like the West, the West doesn’t like us, we have an inferiority complex and we’re going to overcompensate for it.”

“I don’t need to make up anything because I find life to be strange.”

“We should have a Russian soiree that gets crashed by peasants and revolutionary elements.”

“In conclusion (I skipped five pages)-”

“I just say hello to everybody. Except for a couple of people.”

“You know, I remain the funniest person on the planet.”

“History as a social science? Them’s fightin’ words!”

On philosophers: “They’re beholden to nothing and no one except their own minds.”

“After I retire it is my goal to teach nothing and to learn nothing.”

“Nobody’s trying to kill me. I think.”

“Never, not even if I killed half of you and buried you in the basement of the Kremlin, could they take away my PhD.”

“Stemware, for those of you who don’t know, is a crucial part of life.”

“The olives represent the spirit of your paper.”

*embraces student’s head* “Oh, excuse me. That wasn’t sexual harassment.”

*suddenly starts squawking, then stops* “Just imitating someone from my Pilates class.”

“By using a term that’s politically correct instead of a term that is real, the power of your paper will be greatly diminished.”

“I think that I’m teaching Jeff McCarthy and [Student] looks like the little girl across the street. I must be moving into some stage of dementia.”

“Two hours of lecture? Word.”

“I think killing [Professor] would be the best idea in the whole world.”

“You need to accommodate your inadequacies.”

“There’s no crying in history.”

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean you have to do less work.”

“Rationalism is very seductive. It gives you the illusion of control and power.”

“I need to go outside and roll in the snow.”

To herself: “Stop it, [Professor's First Name]! Stop it! Just stop it!”

“Interestingly I didn’t become an axe murderer.”

“They thought they could force the tsar to make reforms, particularly middle-class reforms… but there wasn’t a middle class so I don’t know what they were talking about.”

“With all the unhappy people in the world, I must be the most annoying person ever.”

“I had a mystical experience and here it is. I captured it on my iPhone.”

“I’m always happy when I’m not in a Russian novel.”

“Some people don’t know very much, but they should.”

“What have you got there? A little diaphragm? I mean diagram.”

“One thing I don’t understand—-I just interrupted myself but that’s okay.”

“If you had to be part of a kingdom, the Hawaiian kingdom would be nice. Or the Dutch kingdom, with all those tulips.”

“It’s like revolting against Canada. Why would you do that?”

“I’ve been conversing with my mother lately. You know, she’s dead.”

“Not that you care, and not that I care that you care…”

“What do you call this? A canister?”
“…I call it a water bottle.”

“‘And the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.’”
“Sound like graduate school.”

“If I knew what you were trying to do, I could help you. But right now, when I walk away from this I’m the one who needs help.”

“Seth Green is attractive even though he’s a ginger. Isn’t that weird?”

“Raise your hand if you shoveled snow this morning.” *nobody moves* “If my wife was here she would raise her hand.”

“So what is calculus?”
“I was under the impression that it’s a form of torture.”

“If slavery is the only string holding Rome up, is it worth cutting it?”

“Are these prompts going to be like the humanities ones?”
“Well, first of all, I don’t know what the humanities ones look like…”
“Death.”

“He probably had somewhere important to be. Like the liquor store.”

Before our exam: “For anyone who wants to cop out, I have a knife in my bag.”

Before our exam: “If we break our thumbs, we can’t write.”

“They drank the Kool-Aid, and it was gonna be a great thing.”

“They followed a principle called Home Rule on the Range. Not Home on the Range, Home Rule on the Range.”

“What’s the problem with sulfur dioxide?”
“Does it cause cancer, like everything else?”

“Hemlock is just as natural as Vitamin C.”

On Henry Luce: “Poor Henry. He used to be famous.”

“Writing is a form of thinking.”

“He could say, ‘I’m mixed-race’ and that would probably confuse people.”

“Presidents shouldn’t have everything they want.”

“There’s a young New York State politician who reads everything because he’s a freakin’ maniac.”

“This is in the ‘People are Complicated’ file.”

“‘Combination in restraint of trade.’ What does that mean? No one knows.”

On North Korea: “I don’t think anybody knows why those guys do anything.”

“It’s impossible not to think about Dickens when you think about conditions in London.”

“He was sort of Franklin Roosevelt before Franklin Roosevelt was Franklin Roosevelt.”

“That’s why God invented footnotes.”

“Man, you’re more cynical than me.”

“Simpsons has the answer to every historical question out there.”

On Hitler: “It’s unwise to believe anything that comes out of this man’s mouth unless he’s threatening you.”

On Mussolini: “What kind of crap dictator leaves the king in charge?”

“It’s like talking about unicorns. There’s no such thing as a total war economy.”

“FDR is like Moses!”

“It was badly planned, but at least it was poorly executed.”

“Appeasement’s the dirtiest word in American foreign policy.”

“I think eventually the Castro brothers will die...just because everybody else has, doesn’t mean they’re going to.”

“If you drink everybody under the table, good for you but not really.”

“If you really want to know how MRI works, you have to take physics. I don’t wanna take physics.”

“Thank you, Freud, for all the misinformation you’ve given the world. We appreciate it.”

“You must make mistakes to learn.”

“I kill you if you don’t remember my name.”

“La la la la. I am the winner.”

“Don’t you be afraid of me or nothing.”

“All the weirdest stories we’ve read are from Argentina. I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you never go to Argentina at night. That’s what that means.”

“She was the most stupid woman that you can see in your life.”

“I don’t know what I would do. If I met someone exactly like myself, I think it would freak me out.”

In Which an Idea Comes to Me in a Dream

The entire Honors program got together for a schmancy dinner in which the graduating class was honored. The director of the program invited all the seniors to share some inspirational words with the younger classes aka tell a funny story that preferably embarrasses one of the professors.

This is the tale I told:

During my second semester of Honors, I was in a class team-taught by Scariest Professor and Most Laid-Back Professor. We had to turn in short papers every two weeks or so.

No matter what I did, I could not write a paper that both professors liked. Yet I persevered doggedly, trying one paper after another. I had this idea that once I wrote one paper they both liked, I could deconstruct that paper and then replicate my success.

Except, sadly, there was no success to replicate. I tried everything I could think of, but 'twas all to no avail.

Towards the end of the semester, we read this utterly bizarre book called The Master and Margarita. Utterly. Bizarre. I liked it, but I had no idea what to say about. Add to that the fact that I had not written a successful paper the whole semester, and it was a recipe for utter bemusement.

I pondered, and I pondered, but I had no luck.

Then, one night, I had a dream about the text. When I woke up I thought to myself, "Well, since I have no better ideas..." and proceeded to write a paper about this idea that had come to me in a dream.

I wrote the paper. I turned it in, and I waited. And as I waited, I was hit the horrifying realization of what I had done.

When the two copies of my paper were handed back to me, 'twas with leaden fingers I received them. It's bad to know you've failed; it's worse to see two copies scrawled with comments noting the exact degree to which you've failed.

Finally, though, I looked over the copies and read the comments on my paper.

Both Scariest Professor and Most Laid-Back Professor had loved it.

At first I was elated. And then I realized, "Oh.

"I can't replicate this."

Because of Him

Over the past week, I've been seeing posts tagged #BecauseofHim all over Facebook and Twitter.

And I've kind of been like, "What is this? Is it one of those things where everyone thinks they know what you're talking about but your post is actually about where you leave your purse at the end of the day which somehow supports breast cancer awareness?"

Today, however, I realized that this tag is referencing Easter and the Atonement and all the things we've gained because of His sacrifice in that most momentous of human moments.

Since I have somewhat to say about this matter, I immediately decided to further postpone the twenty-seven other blog posts I have in the works right now and publish this one instead.

My basic understanding of the Atonement can be summed up by one of Christ's parables. The parable goes more or less like this:

Once upon a time, there was a man who borrowed money from a creditor, promising to pay it back on such-and-such a day. When such-and-such a day arrived, however, the man who borrowed the money (the debtor) was unable to pay the money back.

"I don't have the money," said the debtor to the creditor, "but please be merciful to me."

And the creditor said, "But you signed this borrowing-money contract. If I tell you it's okay, you don't have to fulfill it, then what's to become of borrowing-money contracts? Or contracts in general? Justice demands that contracts be fulfilled. To deny that would be to deny justice, and justice is important."

"But so is mercy," argued the debtor. Each was equally convinced that the quality they were championing was important. Yet the importance of the quality the other man was stressing was important, too. So the whole thing kind of reached an awkward standstill.

In the words of Boyd K. Packer,

There they were: One meting out justice, the other pleading for mercy. Neither could prevail except at the expense of the other.

“If you do not forgive the debt, there will be no mercy,” the debtor pleaded.

“If I do, there will be no justice,” was the reply.

Both laws, it seemed, could not be served. They are two eternal ideals that appear to contradict one another. Is there no way for justice to be fully served and mercy also?

There is a way! The law of justice can be fully satisfied and mercy can be fully extended—-but it takes someone else.

Enter a man who offers to pay the debtor's bill. That way, the money demanded by justice is given to the creditor, but the debtor does not have to pay what he at this time cannot afford. He will instead later pay the debt to the man who stepped in aka the mediator.

Always as I read this parable, I see myself as the debtor. God knows (and I mean that very literally) that I make stupid mistakes frequently. A mediator makes repentance and redemption possible for a wayward soul like me. If I had to pay the immediate and full price for my sins and mistakes, no doubt I would not be able to bear it. Through the Atonement, Christ suffered the immediate and full price in my place, and allows me to pay him back in what ways I am able.

The debtor is saved! Jesus Christ, the mediator, has redeemed her and given her another chance! Huzzah!

Recently, however, I've found occasion to put myself in the place of the creditor instead.

Had the creditor not received his money, he would have been wronged. The price needed to be paid to him for justice to be satisfied.

Have you ever been in a situation like the creditor? A situation where someone has wronged you? Did you feel that a price needed to paid?

If you say "No, I've never felt like that," then you are the nicest person in the world and possibly also one of the Three Nephites.

If you say, "Yes, I know what you mean," then you are human, like me.

There have been times when I've said to myself, "This person really hurt me. I want to forgive them, but they're not even sorry. They haven't made up what they've done to me. If I forgive them without demanding an apology or amends, it would be merciful, but would it be just? Would I help this person by showing them love and kindness, or would I hurt them by essentially allowing them to live consequence-free?"

These questions sometimes really bothered me. The other day, when I was studying a completely unrelated matter, I was hit with this realization:

When someone has wronged me, that's a mistake on their part, possibly even a sin depending on the circumstance. Either way, Jesus Christ steps in and takes the full brunt of that wrong.

This helps the person who wronged me, for sure. But it also helps me. I know that the price for the unkind action has been paid by a mediator. So whether the wrongdoer ever understands what they have done to me and feels remorse or not, the price has been paid. Justice is satisfied.

Knowing that, I am free from the need to demand justice. I can then be merciful without holding back. I can forgive without hesitation or doubts.

The Atonement is what makes repentance possible when we are in debt, but it is also what makes forgiveness possible when someone is indebted to us.

How amazing.

How wonderful.

And it's all because of Him.

Nutella

When I got to Germany, the Germans were all, "Oh btw, Europeans eat Nutella every day for breakfast. Also, carrot-orange juice."

And I was all, "I love Nutella. I have no problem with this cultural idiosyncrasy. What's carrot-orange juice?"

Nectar. I mean Nutella. Pretty much the same thing, amirite?

Except I don't speak German, so this transfer of information actually took place through broken English, gestures, and the presence of a vast jar of Nutella at the place of honor at the breakfast buffet.

I think that was the moment that I decided I loved the European continent.

Skip forward from my trip to Europe to the recent past. In the recent past, I got the flu. I don't mean that I got the thing commonly known as the stomach flu. I mean I got the illness influenza, complete with hot and cold flashes, dizziness, and delirium.

Little Sister also had the flu. We spent the day lying on her bunk bed and softly moaning to each other about how we felt about as lively and well as overcooked noodles.

Our little brothers dropped in to see us. And by "see us," I mean, "be generally obnoxious." Because that is the job description of a younger brother, or so I've gathered from my experience.

The following conversation ensued:

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Baby Brother, I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten for hours. Will you please bring me a graham cracker covered in Nutella?

BABY BROTHER: We don't have any graham crackers!

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: How about a frozen waffle covered in Nutella?

BABY BROTHER: That sounds gross. I'm not going to do that.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Trust me. It's actually really good.

BABY BROTHER: (is skeptical)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Baby Brother, anything is good if you put enough Nutella on it.

BABY BROTHER: Anything?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Almost anything.

BABY BROTHER: What about my glasses subscription?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Don't you mean prescription?

BABY BROTHER: No. I mean subscription.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Yeah, a subscription is something for a magazine.

BABY BROTHER: Nuh-uh.

LITTLE BROTHER: What about a toothpick?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: I'm sure that if you put enough Nutella on a toothpick, it would be completely edible.

BABY BROTHER: What about Nutella on somebody's arm?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Oh yeah.

BROTHERS: What about-

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Now will you bring me a graham cracker covered in Nutella?

BROTHERS: But what about-

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Or a frozen waffle. Something!

BROTHERS: But-

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: LOOK HERE. I am extremely sick and hungry. Please put some Nutella on something. Bring it to me. Then go away.

They exited. Cue much rattling in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, they returned with a covered platter.

BROTHERS: Here you go!

With a flourish, Little Brother whipped off the cover, revealing-

-a single toothpick coated in Nutella.

How Not to Live

I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to figure out what is holding me back.

For a while now, I've had this strange feeling that I don't know how to explain. It's like... like I'm treading water. Like I'm standing in a bucket of cement. Like I'm stuck in place when I actually want to catapult forward at great speeds. But only metaphorically. Which is why I always wear a seatbelt.

Anyways, after running around trying to figure out what besides seatbelts are holding me back, I finally had the bright idea to check the scriptures. When I did, I found this beauty of a verse:

"Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy." (2 Nephi 2:25)

I've heard this verse a million times or more, but this time it particularly struck me. I was sledgehammered with the realization that our purpose is to have joy. When we aren't being happy--when we aren't having joy--we are literally failing to fulfill the measure of our existence.

I tucked that thought away and went about my business, pulling it out every now and again to examine it. I asked myself, "Am I being held back because I'm unhappy?"

"Perhaps," I responded. I believe that everyone makes their own happiness. And just as sometimes people stop properly producing insulin and get diabetes, I realized that I had stopped properly producing happiness and had gotten the blues.

But the blues weren't the only thing holding me back. Last night, I found this scripture that Runner Bean once shared with me:

"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." (2 Timothy 1:7)

I reread that verse and remembered how it helped me when I was jittery about going to Europe for the better part of a month with people I didn't know and who I worried wouldn't be supportive of my decision not to drink.

With the help of good old 2 Timothy 1:7, I was able to go to Europe armed with the remembrance that as long as I keep God's commandments, I can go out into the world unafraid, for I know that I will be watched over and guided by Him.

Now I asked myself, "Have I been using this knowledge in my everyday life?"

The answer: Yes. At least, I thought I had. But looking back, I identified several times recently when--even though I had constant reassurance from Heavenly Father that everything would work out--I was too afraid to act. Or I acted differently because I was afraid.

With this realization, I had my answer. I was being held back by unhappiness, yes, but also held back by fear.

Which comes first: unhappiness or fear? I think sometimes the one, sometimes the other. Definitely they are related to one another. Happy people usually aren't afraid. Fearful people usually aren't happy.

In any case, both of them hold people back as effectively as a seatbelt does, but with far fewer benefits.

Neither has a place in my life.

The Candy Fasts

On the first day of my second-grade year of school, each student received a piece of candy from the teacher. The following internal dialogue ensued:

ME: Neato! I'm going to save this delicious piece of candy to eat when I get home.

ALSO ME: Why save it until you get home?

ME: You mean I should eat it now?

ALSO ME: No. I mean that you should eat it even later.

ME: Tomorrow?

ALSO ME: EVEN LATER!

ME: What can possibly be later than tomorrow?!

ALSO ME: The day after tomorrow!

ME: Gasp!

ALSO ME: Or next month!

ME: The horror!

ALSO ME: OR I JUST HAD A BRILLIANT IDEA! What if you wait to eat it until...HALLOWEEN!

ME: If seven years old wasn't too young for heart failure, my heart. Would be failing. Halloween is three months away!!!

ALSO ME: In fact, you should save ALL the candy you get for the next three months until Halloween!

ME: Why would I want to do that? Why?

ALSO ME: Because over the course of the next few months, on occasion you will be given a piece of candy. If you immediately eat that piece of candy, you'll enjoy it, but as soon as it's gone you'll feel sad and wish you had more candy.

ME: That's true. But eating more candy is what Halloween is for.
ALSO ME: Okay, on Halloween you collect a decent-sized amount of candy, right?

ME: Right.

ALSO ME: If you save all your candy and add it to that, you'll have an indecent-sized amount of candy instead. A veritable horde. A treasure trove. Virtually all the candy a seven-year-old child could want at her disposal.

ME: Ohhhh....

ALSO ME: So. Do you dig it, or do you dig it?

ME: When do we start?

From that moment on, not a morsel of candy passed my lips. Every bit of confection I was given was placed, intact in its brightly colored wrapper, on the drawing space inside my weasel.

 

I called it my weasel. It knew no other name.

 

My singular goal was the object of much discussion within the household.

FAMILY: Are you really going to save every piece?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Fools. You underestimate my power.

FAMILY: Saving your candy like that means you have a lot of willpower!

AWAKWARD MORMON GIRL: Or not.

FAMILY: There sure is a lot of candy on that easel.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: What's an easel?

Finally, the 31st of October came. I dressed up as Sleeping Beauty (for the third year in a row) and went out to gather the last morsels of candy that would be the piece de resistance of my collection.

Then it was time to eat.

I swear heavenly choirs of angels were singing as I ripped open the wrapper of that first piece of candy and tore into it with my teeth.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Oh, candy! Oh, joy! Where have you been all my life aka the last three months? Sitting on my weasel, that's where. But now you will sit in my tummy.

I pulled out a book and began to read whilst savoring the chocolate. 'Twas perfection of the most perfect sort.

It took me several days and several good books to consume my veritable horde, my treasure trove. But even a horde doesn't last forever and even a trove must fail. As surely as the first piece of candy had been eaten, so, then, was the last.

ME: Wow. That was amazing.

ALSO ME: Toldja so.

ME: You were totally right. Saving my candy was worth it.

ALSO MR: Wanna do the same thing for Christmas, Valentine's Day, and Easter?

ME: Is an artist's workspace called a weasel?!

It's Fantastic

Little Sister brought me a decorative fan from Chinatown in San Francisco. Add this to the two fans Porch gave me this past summer, and I have a rather nice collection of fans.

A fan.

Burning Question: What is it about me that makes people want to give me fans?

Not-So-Burning Answer: My secret Asian-ness, of course.

Other Burning Question: What can I do with these fans, anyways?

Besides the obvious use of fanning myself, or wafting oxygen over a fire, or using it as a defense mechanism against the Huns, that is.

 

 

 Apart from those things, what can I do with a fan?

 

I thought long and hard about this question, and came up with a rather exhaustive list of things I can do with a fan.

 

-Watch FANtasia with it.

 

-Bring it on the bus and insist on paying its FANfare.

 

-Take it to the opera. Now it's the FANtom of the opera.

-Write a FANtasy story about it: it's FANfiction.

-Show it the segment of Zoom about how FANnee Doollee loves apples but not grapes. And puffins but not penguins. And Harry Potter but not Ron Weasley.

 

-Take it for a ride on an eleFANt.

 

-Kill its parents and make it an orFAN.

-When it whines, tell it to stop being a baby--an inFANt.

 

-Teach it to dance the FANdango.

-Buy it a nice drink of orange FANta.

 

-Put it in a little dress and tell it that it looks FANcy.

 

-Put it in a little suit and tell it that it looks FANdsome.

 

-Watch a movie together that stars Dick FAN Dyke.

 

-Bring it a fruit basket with FANteloupe and FANgerines.

 

-Throw it in the air and yell, "You can fly, Peter FAN!"

 

-Get it a religious television show. Now it's a televised EFANgelist.

 

-Recruit it for a gang and give it a gangster FANdana.

 

-Apply for a scholarship for it because it's a disadFANtaged student.

 

-Tell it to make me a FANdwich.

 

-Take it on a steep hike up a mountain and chant, "I think I FAN, I think I FAN!"