Blah-Blah
n [imit.] (1918): 1 silly or pretentious chatter or nonsense ~ Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, 10th ed.
A post in which I may prattle on about nothing, aka silly nonsense.
I like it!
Don’t you just love the word prattle?
Moving right along.
I’m thinking in B-words today.
Not that kind of B-word.
This kind of B-word.
Bicycle.
Click it bigger.
See. Another B-word.
Here. Let me bold that for you. Click it bigger. You know you want to.
The sun was shining yesterday. Yes! The sun was shining in Ontarioland, and it was a warm 39 Fahren.
So, we did what we are wont to do on such a day after a long and arctic-vortex cold winter. We buzzed down the road.
Hey. Hey. Hey. Those B-words are on a roll.
We drove to the country just on the border of Burbville, which is where I live, writing over the garage. Burbville is a fictitious land, but that’s okay. We drove to the border of it anyway. That’s how we got to the country.
We stopped at one of our favorite nurseries to get our spring on. The place was a hive of spring bulbs and Easter lovelies. A feast for the winterscape eyes.
I could have said beehive of spring bulbs, but that would have been a total blah-blah.
Oh, dear. Someone get me off this B-word roller coaster.
I’m beginning to worry that I keep typing B-wrod. What does that say about me?
I digress.
I love a good bicycle shot.
This antique bicycle was hanging from one of the ceiling poles of the nursery.
Totally nonsensical.
Who goes to the nursery and expects to see a bicycle hanging from the ceiling poles?
Their creativity made me swoon.
It’s not difficult to make me swoon.
I swoon all the time. All. The. Time.
I have a bicycle. It lives in the garage. One of its tires lives in my office. I couldn’t bear to part with it.
Sob. My 1983 Raleigh Sprite 5-speed is considered vintage. I blah-blah about it here.
I bought it secondhand. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
That is such a lie.
Is this blog post giving you a total B-word buzzkill yet?
Wait! Don’t answer that.
Because I don’t think I can stop the B-words from coming. They’re floating in a comment bubble on my brain.
In the immortal words of the Road Runner.
Beep! Beep!
Or was that Meep! Meep!?
Blimey!!
The end.
Elen
Elen Grey 