I was sick a couple days ago. I was holding a box of...tissue paper. I would call it Kleenex, but it was not Kleenex. I started thinking about how no one ever says, "Hey, hand me a box of Scotts!" Kleenex is, well, Kleenex. Just like no one tears through the house shouting, "I need to charge my Sansa!" or, "Where the [yay! curse word!] is my mp3 player?!" Even non-iPods are iPods. Generic Blue Glass Cleaner is always Windex. Permanent markers are Sharpies. Also, what makes a sneaker a sneaker? Is there a test? If you let it alone, will your moustache cover your mouth?
Anyways, I thought I'd just let you know, my brain is working again so I can write you pretty things. Have an art.
--Sabrina
