A country scratching a lazy irritation at sagging doorjambs and late trains, whose greatest attribute is a collective, smelly tolerance, where a chap will put up with almost everything, which means he won’t care about anything enough to get out of a chair.A country of public insouciance and private, grubby guilt, where you can believe anything as long as you don’t believe it too fervently. A country where the highest aspiration is for a quiet life.
A. A. Gill
We wondered why when
We wondered why when a child laughed, he belonged to Daddy, and when he had a sagging diaper that smelled like a landfill, ‘He wants his mother.’ Erma Bombeck