Today’s rant is brought you courtesy of the sentence “Smoothies are convenient to today’s busy lifestyle.”
I’m sorry. Great Great Granny Clause* had milked the cows, lit the wood stove, made biscuits, and fried bacon from a hog Great Great Gramps Clause butchered the fall before by 6 a.m., the hour when your cell phone trills you awake, you roll out of your memory foam mattress in your air-conditioned bedroom, wander downstairs and slosh together some fruit from California and Chile that you pull from your electric freezer and place into your electric blender to mix and make your aforesaid smoothie. I’ll bet you’ve never laid your lotion-smoothed, manicured hands on a cow in all your life.
And if I have to listen to you hearken back to “simpler times,” dear author, I may just quit.
*This is a fictional account. I come from a long line of urban storekeepers, but I have read all the Little House books at least three times.