If you want proof of this, just give her the bread and the bread knife. Ask her to cut you a slice.
The result, which is apparent on the remaining loaf, is also the reason why there aren't many women carpenters. A bread knife is, actually, a saw.
Natures way of telling you that water is boring.
A term for 'lack of scientific knowledge' and an excuse for ignorance.
When you realise you are having one, note your present age.
By definition, that's how long you have left.
This is good advice for tradesmen, decorators, plumbers, electricians and the like.
She will ask you to do the impossible.
She cannot describe it, expects it to be perfectly executed and exactly as she envisioned it.
Look out if it isn't. Especially at our house.
Experience has shown me that, if they are properly prepared before the event, most women will fit comfortably on it.
Yes they can. They simply choose not to. That way, things get done well, on time and within budget.
They do not concern themselves with how the nail feels about being hit on the head, how the hammer feels about being forced to hit the nail on the head or how the wood feels about having the nail driven mercilessly into it.
The ridiculous idea, propagated especially by left wing loonies, that nothing may be called by its proper name in order to not offend.
E.g. 'Spade' becomes 'Excavation and soil rearrangement implement'.
Simply calling it a spade may cause offence to black people who, by an accident of nature for which they are in no way to blame, are the same colour as the Ace of Spades.
Hence, asking, "Where's my spade?", implies that by ownership of a spade one practises slavery, that one is being derogatory and is, therefore, a racist.
Which is tough luck if you truly can't find your excavation and soil rearrangement implement.
We could call a spade a digger but that would, by association, risk offending the Australians, especially the Aboriginals. I believe the Americans had a similar sounding word but we won't go there.
Before you buy whatever it is you're going to buy, try ringing to the maker's customer service centre. If you find yourself continuously pressing buttons for a hundred different menus, which is a complete and utter waste of your time as it is meaningless, and then still have to wait to speak to a real person because all their staff (all 2 of them!) are busy and you are number 53 in the queue, don't buy the crap.
If their service centre is so busy, then it's a shit product anyway and all their customers are complaining.
Send the company an email explaining why you didn't buy their product. If we all did this, they might just think about providing some real customer service.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Murphy's Law states that whatever can go wrong will go wrong. Considering another law, that being the law of averages, Murphys law is undeniable and, given time, anything that can go wrong will eventually go wrong.
Sods Law is another thing entirely.
Sods law dictates that when Murphys Law treads into effect it will happen at the absolute worst time in human history and in the absolute worst circumstances and location.
Consider this the next time your car breaks down on an otherwise deserted road in the middle of nowhere, in the pouring rain and freezing wind and you don't have a cell phone with you.
So what? Even if it didn't, it's going into the bin anyway.
Yes it is. But you won't know that once you're gone, so why worry about it?
This will not be helpful if you are caught, up to your neck and still sinking, in a seething bog.
Oh. Really? If I am being sarcastic, you can be pretty bloody certain, that I am not trying to entertain you with my superior intellect.
So is fifty years of hard work but there are no government warnings attached to that.
Maybe not. But neither can it buy misery, abject poverty, deprivation and depression.
Unless, of course, he is surrounded by water. In which case, technically speaking, he is. Consider this next time you are in the hot tub or swimming.
And yet, you still can't find a place to park in the town.
Yes you can. Compare these two titles; "Mrs. Beatons cookery book" and "Workshop manual for Royal Enfield Bullet 500".
I would suggest that only an idiot would not draw a reasonable conclusion as to the contents of and the difference therein, between the two.
If, however, you use said stone to beat some insufferable bastard about the head, the subsequent resultant outpouring will suffice to disprove this theory.
I always carry some form of folding pocket knife with me. Pocket knives are tools and not weapons.
You have been warned.
It keeps my hands busy and my mouth shut. I like to think that makes me approachable.
I may, of course, be wrong.
Those that can't see what is directly in front of them and those that won't.
It is the latter that deserve pity.
A wise man once told me; It isn't about the size of the dog in the fight, it's more about the size of the fight in the dog.
I've always remembered that. It reminds me to not give up on shit and continue to plug away.
It simply means that the range of women available to them gets considerably wider.
I don't know why. I never gave him any incitement or encouragement and, generally, I try to avoid homosexual mexicans.