Packing Boxes Funny Quotes

And I’m not sure why I wasted all that time and energy, because when I think about family—that thing I’d always longed for—it’s never been a Norman Rockwell painting that I picture. It’s me and Mom, on the couch, eating microwaved corn dogs while Dial M for Murder plays on TV. It’s running out from the library at night to her car, a greasy box of Little Caesars pizza in the passenger seat, her joking, I thought we’d do Italian. It’s being pulled away from watching the frost melt on the living room window to make stovetop hot cocoa from a packet, and that last tight hug at the end of the airport security line, and packing up cardboard boxes, knowing I’ll always have what I need, no matter how much I leave behind.

No. I’m saying your ex is the little boy looking over someone else’s shoulder, trying to figure out if the kid next to him has a better lunch. Only, the lunch box is shut, so even though he knows what his parents packed for him is pretty good, he’d still trade it just to open up that rusty little Batman lunch box.

School Lunch Box     When midday arrived I opened my box but there was no lunch, just a pair of old socks. Instead of my crisps and fruit for dessert were yesterday’s pants and a crumpled school shirt.   That evening I asked Mum the reason she chose to leave out the food and to pack dirty clothes. She said, ‘Come and eat while your supper’s still clean. I’ve just pulled it out of the washing machine.

It is now time to face the fact that English is a crazy language — the most loopy and wiggy of all tongues. In what other language do people drive in a parkway and park in a driveway? In what other language do people play at a recital and recite at a play? Why does night fall but never break and day break but never fall? Why is it that when we transport something by car, it’s called a shipment, but when we transport something by ship, it’s called cargo? Why does a man get a hernia and a woman a hysterectomy? Why do we pack suits in a garment bag and garments in a suitcase? Why do privates eat in the general mess and generals eat in the private mess? Why do we call it newsprint when it contains no printing but when we put print on it, we call it a newspaper? Why are people who ride motorcycles called bikers and people who ride bikes called cyclists? Why — in our crazy language — can your nose run and your feet smell?Language is like the air we breathe. It’s invisible, inescapable, indispensable, and we take it for granted. But, when we take the time to step back and listen to the sounds that escape from the holes in people’s faces and to explore the paradoxes and vagaries of English, we find that hot dogs can be cold, darkrooms can be lit, homework can be done in school, nightmares can take place in broad daylight while morning sickness and daydreaming can take place at night, tomboys are girls and midwives can be men, hours — especially happy hours and rush hours — often last longer than sixty minutes, quicksand works very slowly, boxing rings are square, silverware and glasses can be made of plastic and tablecloths of paper, most telephones are dialed by being punched (or pushed?), and most bathrooms don’t have any baths in them. In fact, a dog can go to the bathroom under a tree —no bath, no room; it’s still going to the bathroom. And doesn’t it seem a little bizarre that we go to the bathroom in order to go to the bathroom? Why is it that a woman can man a station but a man can’t woman one, that a man can father a movement but a woman can’t mother one, and that a king rules a kingdom but a queen doesn’t rule a queendom? How did all those Renaissance men reproduce when there don’t seem to have been any Renaissance women? Sometimes you have to believe that all English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane: In what other language do they call the third hand on the clock the second hand? Why do they call them apartments when they’re all together? Why do we call them buildings, when they’re already built? Why it is called a TV set when you get only one? Why is phonetic not spelled phonetically? Why is it so hard to remember how to spell mnemonic? Why doesn’t onomatopoeia sound like what it is? Why is the word abbreviation so long? Why is diminutive so undiminutive? Why does the word monosyllabic consist of five syllables? Why is there no synonym for synonym or thesaurus? And why, pray tell, does lisp have an s in it? If adults commit adultery, do infants commit infantry? If olive oil is made from olives, what do they make baby oil from? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian consume? If pro and con are opposites, is congress the opposite of progress? ...

When I got off the phone, my earbuds were still in from the call and my phone started playing a song, which it sometimes does, without my explicit instruction. The song it played was a U2 song from an album that was released when I was finishing high school, an album I played on a CD boom box, lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how I was at the end of some beginning, which made what came next the beginning of the end. I walked over to the bodega on a corner at Sixth and bought a pack of cigarettes. The man who sold them to me didn’t look at me funny; he didn’t tell me I was too old to be playing games like this. I went back to the bench and lit a cigarette and inhaled, the smoke entering my body and filling it with poison, with something. — THE HOUSE IN East Hampton was no longer Toby’s, as if it ever was,

Kane ignored his brother and said, “You're seducing us.” We all scratched our necks. “That is ridiculous,” I said, waving Kane off. “No,” Nico snarled, “It's not. I know you Bronagh. You're constantly touching me, bending over in front of me and drawing as much attention to your ass and body as possible. You know damn well what you're doing to me.” Bronagh remained silent, as did the rest of us. “You seduced me in the bathroom, Keela,” Alec hissed at me. “Then you stole my boxes right out from under me.” I wanted to laugh so I bowed my head and cast my eyes to the floor to avoid doing so. I glanced at Kane when he crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Aideen. “You grazed your ass against me five times. Five. Times. You evil bitch.” I lifted my hand to my mouth and covered it when a snicker escaped. “You think this is funny!” Ryder bellowed. “My cock was so hard for you Branna and you were all 'Stop it, we have to pack boxes.'“ I erupted into laughter at Ryder's impression of Branna, and so did the other girls.

Mark Gungor runs marriage seminars. He gave a very funny but all-too-true description of the difference between men’s and women’s brains, called “A Tale of Two Brains.” Men’s brains, he said, are composed of many little boxes.There’s a box for the car, a box for money, a box for the kids, a box for the job, a box for the marriage, and so on. The rule, according to Gungor, is that the boxes don’t touch. When a man discusses a particular subject, he pulls that box out, opens it, and discusses only what is in that box. Then he closes the box and puts it away, being very careful not to touch any other box. Gungor added that men have one very special box, which is their favorite, and it’s called the nothing box because there’s nothing in it.That accounts for how they can sit motionless in front of the TV for six hours. In contrast, women’s brains are like a big ball of wire, and everything is connected to everything else. It’s like the Internet superhighway. The job touches the car, which touches the house, which touches the mother-in-law, which touches the job. Women remember everything because everything is connected and is fueled by emotion. When I heard this description, it occurred to me that this quality of emotional interconnection gives women a terrific benefit in business. We can put it all together and figure out solutions while the men are packing and unpacking their individual boxes.