Which Person?

Daddy has started trying to use a word that we believe he just made up. He keeps referring to himself by only using one letter. We were thinking that it is pretty high and mighty of him to feel that he can refer to himself by the letter "I" while the rest of us have a full name.

Hold on...my sister is rudely interrupting my screen time...
Yeah, right, Daddy has been referring to himself in the "3rd person" since we were born. Very funny!
Nobody else speaks in the 3rd person? Then why would Daddy do it?
Lots of parents do it???? What the hell is the point of that? Are they trying throw us off track? Make kids learn language incorrectly and then tell us we're wrong later on? This is total BS!

When is Daddy going to start talking in this so called "1st person" again? Well that's just bloody ridiculous. He's about to have another kid so is that 4 more years of him being deceitful:
"Daddy has to mow the lawn"
"Daddy is going to work now"
"Daddy is just resting his eyes"
"Daddy just likes getting new socks"

ENOUGH WITH THE DECEPTION!!

Ya know, Dad, eventually it will become a habit and then you'll be walking around being Jimmy all day. (Not that there's anything wrong with that)...


And while we're on the topic, when will someone start referring to themselves in the 2nd person?

Developing a Complex

I've started to notice dad buying a lot of socks these days. When we ask him about it, he mumbles something about e-mails and "being a man". Now I was willing to just let it go and file it under the heading of "crazy daddy stuff". My sister, however, is significantly more curious than I am and decided to do some investigating.
Now, I'd like to preface the next section by questioning where exactly my sister learned the computer skills that she has somehow acquired. She claims that she read some of Daddy's e-mails and when I asked how she did that (since I didn't even think she could read), she said, and I quote, "I hacked that shit".
She says that Daddy has a file in his e-mail account titled LIES LIES LIES!! Inside this file, there is a collection of more than a hundred items of, what appears to be, junk mail. With titles such as "We sell V1agra and C1alis for cheap" or "Grow your manhood", it seems that Daddy has become concerned (some may call it paranoid) that he is the target of a smear campaign aimed at spreading what he refers to as "vicious rumours that have absolutely no basis in the goddamn truth".

Even armed with this information, we still couldn't figure out the link between the extra sock purchases and the e-mails. We both feel that there must be a connection but just can't think of what it is. Oh well, I guess we should just stuff that issue to the back of our minds and move on...

P.S. As proof of his manhood, Daddy has requested that we post his most recent photo and that we also point out the minor plastic surgery he had done to remove what he refers to as "all the unnecessary bits".

The Neighbouriest Neighbour (Part 3)

I don't fully understand bigotry. I'm a bit young for that type of thing (although Daddy does tend to rant and rave about "jack asses" and "pompous idiots"...is that the same as bigotry?). However, we were exposed to this sort of thing at quite a young age.
The year was 2010. The day: July 5th...it was a Monday. I remember because I hate Monday's and I don't know why.
The most significant thing about that day? It was bugger hot out. So hot that everyone had their air conditioners on...all the time. And then, BAM (but you have to say it like Emeril),
all the power goes out. Now, it doesn't go out for everyone. We were okay (and our cheap-ass parents won't get AC anyways) but all of Toronto is affected...and then our man D drops by.
After some idle chit chat and comments on the heat, Maman says,
"Did you see the power outage in Toronto?"
To which my man D gives the oh-so-reasonable response,
"Yeah, those bastards can burn in the dark."

Maman is speechless for a second before making some excuse to gracefully excuse herself and go back inside. Where does one get that kind of venom in the first place? I've heard tales of people discriminating based on religion, race, sexual orientation but never based on city of inhabitance. That dude's got some crazy hate-on for Toronto for some reason..."burn in the dark", he says...

Say no to discrimination against Torontonians. They should be treated like humans, too.

Bridwell's Bad Dreams

Our parents have introduced us to something quite terror-inducing over the last couple of years. I'm sure that it was unintentional and a part of our bedtime routine but it ends up being petrifying nonetheless. We have several books about Clifford the big red dog in various situations (none of which deals with people being scared out of their mind by a dog that is larger than a house and forming a lynch mob to take care of that shit). Daddy says that the reason that nobody comes after Clifford isn't because of his size, it's because he is protected by 'that crazy smiling zombie-girl'.

Daddy says that she'll eat the face off any "bitches who wanna mess with her dog". We're not completely familiar with all of these terms at this point but I'm sure it'll all become clear in the next couple years.
It didn't really occur to us, what with our horribly zombie-sheltered lives, but perhaps Mr. Bridwell should have considered adding a bit of white to the outsides of her eyes. Perhaps then Daddy wouldn't wake up at 2am squeeling about "get that huge dog off my leg" and "oh crap, zombie-chick is comin' and that dog has mounted me again".
Is this what night terrors are made of?

Happy Mother's Day (but from 2011)

So I was perusing some of the draft blogs that I have saved but never finished and I came across this one from May 7, 2011. So as a part of last year's Mother's Day gift, I'll promise to post one blog per week until we go back to school after the summer. (At that point, we'll see how motivated I am to continue...). Je t'aime...

To the mother of my children,
Tracy, I couldn't be more impressed with the way you have raised the girls (with some minor contributions from me). They are such wonderful, smart, nice kids and none of that would have happened if it weren't for your influence over the last 2 1/2 years. I am so glad that we didn't just stick them in a daycare where they would have been fed and supervised because you did both those things and threw in a ginormous amount of love along with it. I love the tremendous variety of activities that you expose them to and the sheer volume of skills that they have acquired in such a short time. You are truly marvelous.
From your perseverance through the nursing struggles to your will power to get up when I just couldn't stay awake (and patient) any longer. This house would fall to pieces without you. You keep everyone organized (which we know is a necessity with our crazy schedules) and we still manage to find quality time here and there to spend with each other. You amaze me :)
The girls and I love you with all our hearts and we have come to the conclusion that you are definitely the best mom in the whole world.
On vous aime :) :) :)

Dr. Moe and the Gullibility of Children

A message from Tutankhamen:


3dub: Qu'est-ce que l'ami fait? (what is he doing?)

What was I supposed to say?
"Oh, it's a really funny joke to pretend to pull someone's tooth out with pliers...while they are fully conscious..."

How do you explain the genius of The Three Stooges to a 2 year old? Especially a 2 year old girl? (I suspect most adult girls don't fully get it so what chance is there for a toddler?)

So I did the first thing I could think of that would end the conversation quickly...

3dub: Qu'est-ce que l'ami fait?
Daddy: Oh, he has a toothache and the other guy is a dentist and is helping him...
3dub stares at the picture quizzically and seems to sense that there is a disparity between what her completely honest father is telling her and what she is deducing from the photo.

So I tried to convince my daughter that Moe is a dentist, so what?

Don't judge me...

A Posting From Our Mother's Blog

This was posted on our mother's blog under the title, "Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"
We think she might love him :S

Happy Father's Day to an absolutely incredible, fantabulous, patient, kind, loving, helpful, handsome, handy, funny and fun Daddy :) :) :) :) We are very lucky girls to have you in our lives et on vous aime de tous nos coeurs :) :) xoz

You go pipes! Did I mention strong? :)

Cuddles with sweet baby Key :)

Cuddles with sweet baby M :)

Already making his little ladies giggle :)

Can you feel the love?

Daddy is an awesome reader :) :)

Seems like soooooooooooooooooooo long ago :)

Multi-tasking :)

Soooo cuddly and sooooo good at keeping us safe :)

Always fixing and making things for us :)

Funny guy!!! Do you remember this one Leigh? :) :)

Crazy guy, but we love him soooooooo much :) :)

Colons and Colons

My sister and I are working on learning English. I think we should be cut a little bit of slack since it is our second language; however, I also understand that there is only so much slack that can be cut. The English language is somewhat complicated (as is evidenced HERE).

But I think being able to distinquish the English translations of "Je suis" and "J'ai fait" is a particularly important skill. Case in point:

As part of our toilet training, we get a Smartie when we poop in the potty. It has been a remarkably successful strategy as neither of us have had an incident with the "Number 2" in many months.
(Come to think of it, I'm not so sure we even need treats for this anymore...if you inform our parents of this revelation, you will be placed in a burlap sack and beaten with reeds...pretty standard, really)

Now this practice has fostered some great pride in both of us when we go to "pinch a loaf" as we both exit the washroom announcing our deeds to the world. But the last time, in her effort to show her pride, my sister, who was intending to say, "J'ai fait un gros caca" decided that she wanted to show off her English:

"I am big caca"

Both my parents stop what they are doing. My eyes grow wide with shock.
Nobody has the heart to correct her...I mean, what do you say to somebody who is so proud of her accomplishment?:
"No you're not"?

I didn't know what to do, so I just hopped into my toy car and drove away.

English is tough...
(also can be evidence by the ridiculous punctuation in this piece using semi-colons and colons...)

The Sweetest Lullaby

There's seriously something wrong with my big sister. Everyday before nap time and before bed, we each get to choose a lullaby before going to sleep. Sometimes we hear "Twinkle Twinkle", "Berceuse en bois", "Itsy Bitsy Spider", or even the very very different "Big Fat Spider". We can choose any song we would like to hear. Well, about 4 or 5 days ago, she started with an odd choice.

Maman: What song would you like?
Me: Je t'aimerais toujours
Maman: And what song would you like?
Sis: Soccer

Well, you and I both know that "soccer" actually means that she wants Mommy to sing Poker Face by Lady Gaga:


Now, there are a few confusing issues here:

1) Where on earth did she hear this song? We don't listen to the radio and neither Mommy nor Daddy has this song anywhere in the house.

2) Why would she decide that this is a relaxing song to be used as a lullaby? I mean, who can think of sleep when Gaga is dressed like that?

And finally,
3) How is this song referred to as "Soccer"?

Now the sad part to all this is that Maman doesn't know any of the words other than:

P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face
(Mum mum mum mah)
P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face
(Mum mum mum mah)

This takes her all of 10 seconds to sing and then she moves on to a more appropriate lullaby. I sure hope this "Soccer" phase doesn't last long cause if I have to hear that too many more times, I'm sure gonna poke her face...

O'ville Penguins

Our father (the upstanding gentleman that he is) told us a joke that he heard once:
An elderly man is sitting in a food court at the mall when I teenager walks by with a multi-coloured mohawk. There is not a lot of this in the old man's social circles and he finds it fascinating. As he continues to stare, eventually the youth turns to him and says, "Whats wrong old man? You never did anything crazy in your life?"
The gentleman doesn't miss a beat and says, "Yeah...got drunk once and fucked a peacock. Just wondering if you were my son..."

There is a guy that can sometimes be seen roaming about town, a local Orangevillian, that Maman and Daddy determined, after some discussion, must have been a product of a human and penguin interaction (it was also determined that the human involved here was our neighbour D but that is neither here nor there).

It is difficult to gauge the age of the Penguin because he travels around with his skateboard but also has a severely receding hairline. Best guess has him at early 20's which would mean D's encounter at the zoo occurred when he was in his 40's (completely reasonable since most studies place the main age group for these types of events as 33-46).

As he is a skateboarder, he also wears his pants just above his knees thereby causing him to waddle when walking down the street (and giving him his name).

HAZARDS OF SAGGY PANTS

Other consequences that are being attributed to the saggy pants:
-being a D-Bag and skateboarding across the street, against the light as soon as there is a small break in traffic (thereby leaving the girl you were with on the other side and you having to stand with your skateboard and wait for her, looking like a dick)
-the ridiculousness of retrieving your cell phone from your back pocket (which is, of course, down near your calf)...the back problems that you will have later in life from reaching down there constantly...

Now, as you know, the penguins that roam around Orangeville in the summertime are somewhat elusive and so video footage of him has been somewhat difficult to gather(as we don't carry video cameras with us and just got our nifty new phones recently). But rest assured, there will be an update to this post as soon as footage is obtained this summer :)

P.S. please note that our penguin does also walk around with his arms out and back like regular penguins do...

Les Bonhomme Souriants

So things have gone too far. I have decided to write this in the same style that my mother uses in order to prove my point :). Since I am the bigger sister I feel that it is my duty to speak up and stop the madness :) :). For those that haven't noticed, Maman tends to get a bit carried away with the smiley face emoticons :) :) :). Now I appreciate the lack of tone that goes along with typing a message and Maman's desire to add some cheerfulness to her writing but I think that there may be a point when it is considered too much :) :) :) :).
Maman is about two time zones past that point :) :) :).

I submit to you as evidence:

1) Daddy says that it has gotten to the point in his classroom where the students can tell which tests and handouts were designed by her (and then swiped by him for use in all future applicable classes). His students have begun mocking him and telling him that if he is going to use these handouts, he should put something that more suits him :(
Daddy says his students are jerks.

2) Please review our penchant for examining our own feces. Now I have long since outgrown this type of behaviour but my sister is another matter. The other day, while staring at the load she just deposited in the toilet, she proclaimed that she could see a smiley face in her poo...
Is this what we've come to? Since we can't go outside because of the weather, we are unable to look for pictures in the clouds so we use the next best thing? (And despite me being the more mature sister, I did go to verify the claims but could see nothing of the sort...she tried to convince me that a piece of corn was the nose...disturbing)

Maman, if you are reading this, I hope you can reflect on the part you have played in this whole scenario...things have gone too far :) :) :) :) :) :)

Landmarks and Sore Bums

To start, you need some background:

First of all, my sister has had some digestive issues lately. She tends to 'hold it in' until she is completely backed up and then it hurts to go. Maman is working this issue out with mineral oil but the last time she had this problem, it was extremely painful for her.

Secondly, Maman has taught us how to notice when we are close to home. We are almost always coming from the south so there are certain things we are supposed to look for to know that we are almost back to the O'ville.

First up is the big blue bridge that runs across Hwy 10 in Caledon.

My sister and I both get a kick out of driving under bridges right now so we are quite excited to see the "Pond Bleu".

Next up, we see the 'big flower'. We aren't sure why there is a large flower just sitting at an intersection but it's huge and it's a flower so we love it.

Then comes Daddy's favourite restaurant.

Yes, it is strange but the cafeteria in the hospital makes great food...you should go there, regularly.

Then comes the éolienne (seems to be a wind turbine). It is very thrilling for us to see whether or not the éolienne is spinning (and we have not yet developed an opinion as to whether or not this joyful event for us causes health problems for the people who live next to it).
Our final sign that we are close is the huge Canadian flag...
And that is the end of the background info.
Now on a recent trip home, my sister decided to employ the figure of speech known as a "simile". The conversation took place in French so the translation is in brackets.

Me: L'éolienne tourne!! (The turbine is spinning!!)
Daddy: Oui (Yes, it is)
Maman: Qui peut voir le drapeau de Canada? (Who sees the Canadian flag?)
My sis: Regarde le grand drapeau de Canada...C'est grand comme le caca d'Emma...
(Look at the Canadian flag...it's as big as Emma's poo...)

There was a second of silence in the car.
My mouth dropped open...I mean, who uses simile's so frequently and with such vulgarity?
Daddy turned around in shock (which was probably not advisable since he was driving but what can you do after a statement like that).
Maman froze...at first...then she burst out laughing.
Daddy continued to drive while looking back at my sister, and continued to drive that way until we got home.
My sister just kept looking out the window...again unaware of the rukus that she caused.

I'm sure hoping she learns some social graces in the next couple years, because you can only get away with saying that type of thing for a couple more years...

The Neighbouriest Neighbour (part 2)

Daddy says that he has a great appreciation for chivalry. He says that, despite the fact that "modern notions" are using feminism as an excuse to treat everyone the same, that doesn't mean we should treat everyone poorly. He is sad that he sees so few displays of honour and chivalry any more.

And then he comes home from work and the neighbour has shoveled his driveway for him. We can tell just by looking at him that this urks him a bit. His sense of what a 'real man' should do in this world doesn't include "have the elderly shovel your driveway".

Did you know that 1200 people die every year from shoveling snow? And they recommend that people 50 and over try not to shovel at all...as opposed to people being 60, finishing their own driveway and moving on to the driveway of the perfectly able-bodied man next door.

Of course, since this is our man D, nothing will be said to him for fear that D will snap and go on, what will be referred to in the news reports as, a "spree".

So the neighbour in his 60's will continue to do the shoveling around here and Daddy will continue to open doors for other people in an effort to make up for the fact that the old man next door keeps doing his job.

You Just Wait 'Till Your Mother Gets Home

Daddy is normally a pretty cool guy. It's not often we see any rise of emotion from him but the other day, he lost his composure a bit. You could see his eyes narrow and his face flush a bit...it was kinda funny, to be honest with you.

Maman had gone to the grocery store for a bit and we were seated at the table with Daddy. We were just finishing our lunch when noticed that I could hear Baron cleaning his paws on the couch. I thought he was licking our couch and was appalled by his nerve.

Me: Baron lèche le divan (pointing at the infraction)
Daddy: Non, il lèche son jambe
3dub: SA jambe

Well right away I knew something was wrong. Daddy slowly turned to look at my sister and stoped chewing. Tumbleweed rolled across the table. Somebody far away started whistling a slow ballad.
Daddy's eyes narrowed.
My sister sat there with food on her face and played with her spoon like nothing was going on.

Daddy slowly looked down at his food and was mumbling something about:

"mumble, mumble, how dare she, mumble, mumble, not even 2 and a half, mumble, mumble, correct her father, mumble, mumble, wait till mom gets home, mumble, mumble, mumble, she'll tell us whose right, mumble, mumble, lost my appetite, mumble, mumble."

Leg in French


At this point Daddy got up and took his dishes into the kitchen.
My sister continued eating, oblivious to Daddy's change in mood.

And the shocker was that neither one of them cared that the damn dog was still licking my couch!!

On Ne Touche Pas Le Penis

We have noticed something as of late. Daddy doesn't quite look the same as us. At first we questioned Maman about the odd appearance of Daddy's vagina. Her response was shocking to say the least...it wasn't a vagina at all.

Now we're not completely sure whether or not Daddy is aware of his...issue. We try to discuss it with him...to begin a dialogue so to speak(we do this usually once a day, sometimes twice). He just seems to brush it off as if it's no big deal and he does not want to deal with it. Our daily brief conversation usually goes something like this:

Us: Daddy a un penis
Daddy: Oui

WHAT KIND OF RESPONSE IS THAT??! If I came out and told you that, "by the way, you're different than everyone else" (that we've ever seen), would your response be, "yeah"?

He must be in denial.
That would also explain his reaction when we first became aware of his deformity.

Us: Daddy a un penis
D: Oui
Us: Vois?
D: No
Us: Touche?
D: No

He wasn't even willing to let us confirm what we saw...definitely denial.

So now it has been impressed on us that this "no touching" rule is actually "written in stone". Daddy took his chisel outside and came back holding a rock with "On ne touche pas le penis" carved into it. He says he is going to mount it in our room and the rule applies until we are 25...WTF???

We definitely need to get Daddy some help.

Marriage Tip Number 95...Debunked

While flipping through some of our favourite flyers looking for deals, we came across this ad:


Now, I don't know about you but Barbie better never complain about a damn thing with a hottie like that around (although we thought he should be mildly insulted that he was on for BOGO half price). Now we understand that, when we eventually get into a serious relationship, one of our big rules is: "Don't try to change him" (I mean, it's even marriage tip number 95 HERE...and this apparently mostly applies if you're married to a 1960's aviator??).

My sister and I have discussed it at length and we have decided that Barbie has disproved this little piece of wisdom. We think that "Don't try to change him" is bunk (pardon the strong language). Witness:


This is Ken from 1961 (we know that some of you are judging the author for doing so much research into Ken and we have been told that the author is not ashamed).
In a mere 50 years, Barbie has managed to take this hillbilly (who comes with a shotgun) and turn him into the babe-magnet you see above. We submit to you that there is only one way that Barbie could have accomplished this. A systematic breaking down of his psyche through nagging, subliminal messages during his sleep (as well as possibly some physical torture) and then re-building his mind the way she wanted it...we applaud you Barbie. We hope to follow in your footsteps. Now, the only issue is:





If they guy is going to look the way he does now, we feel that he deserves genitals at this point...I mean, why look and dress like that with no pay off?

Oh The Horror

We are going to write about this incident in the hopes that others can learn from it. We understand the embarrassment that could come along if this is read 10 years from now but we want to make sure that other toilet-training children know what they are in for.

These were the early days of learning to spend time around the house without diapers. They were dangerous days. My sister was more willing to test these waters than I was (the brave soul). One dreary day, while alone with Maman, my sister says she has to use the bathroom. We have a lovely Dora potty (picked up cheap on Facebook, of course) and so she heads over there and sits down to do her business. Like a good girl, she completes her business...and this is where things went wrong.

She decided that she wanted to look...

Daddy still proclaims to this day that he doesn't know why someone would insist on taking a gander at their own 'caca'. Maman usually just rolls her eyes and reminds him that we are 2 years old and that logic doesn't apply here (nor does common decency apparently).

She wanted to look and, after being cleaned up, she turned around and stared into the Dora pot. Almost immediately, you could see the regret spread across her face and she burst into tears. She runs across the floor and throws herself, sobbing, into Maman's arms. Poor thing.

You know how in horror films how we sit there watching someone open a door that 95% of the world knows better than to open. Well that's what happened to me in this situation. I saw my sister's reaction and decided that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. So I make my way past my mother who is comforting my sister (still wailing) and peer into the Dora pot...

I must have blacked out at that point because the next thing I know, I'm in my mother's arms, right next to my sister and we are both inconsolable.

I can't be sure but I thought for a second that my mother was laughing at us. Of course, that wouldn't make sense in our time of need so I must be mistaken in that recollection.

I guess there is a reason that most people don't stare at freshly dropped deuces. A lesson that my sister and I have both learned...the hard way.

The Neighbouriest Neighbour (part 1)

If only Mr. Rogers lived next door. Our neighbours are...interesting. On the one side is our boy P. P says hi to us and seems to be friendly but also seems to be very...how should we put this...concerned about his finances.

On the other side is, D, one of the strangest dudes we've ever met. Granted, we are just approaching the two-and-a-half year mark of our lives but we like to think of ourselves as somewhat worldly. If you don't want to take our word for it, our Dad thinks he's got some screws loose...

When D wants to talk with us, he usually opens the gate, strolls through our backyard and walks up onto our deck so that he can knock on our glass doors. Not sure what is wrong with our front door but I guess if you are one step away from going postal, people just let you do what you like (Daddy says, "If the psycho dude wants to let himself in so that he can give us a tomato, who am I to correct that type of behaviour?"...We're starting to think Daddy might be a bit of a coward...).

Usually when Mommy bakes things, she'll send a plate over to D's house since he's in his 60's and his mother, who also lives there (another 'indicator'), is in her 80's or 90's. Last year, when Mom left some lemon muffins on his porch, the following conversation was had:

D: You didn't leave those muffins for us did you?
Mom (with big smile): Yes, I did. Did you like them?
D: I hope you didn't make those?
Mom (smile wavers for a second): Yes, I did...
D: Oh, I didn't touch them...they didn't look very appetizing

Who is so socially inept that they say something like that? We've decided that we are on Daddy's side about this one. The crazy socially inept neighbour can knock on whatever door he likes and we won't say a darn thing about it...

And if things go awry one day (if the steps up the back deck are out of service and he just loses it), we want you all to know that we love you (On vous aime :)

But on a serious note...

Daddy's all frowny these days. He says report cards are no laughing matter. Sounds like blogging has to wait until reports are done next week and he's no longer in stinky mood.

Until then, you can read this enormously inappropriate joke...

Dad's Grant Proposal

Daddy says he is applying for a grant from the "gu'ment" (he says he learned that term from reading the facebook pages of morons and "brampton thugs"). We found the folder where he has started collating his data.


My sister and I cautiously opened the folder and quickly realized that it wasn't what we thought it was (like you, we assumed it was going to be a study on rhinoceroses). It is actually a study on horn honking after the light turns green.

Dad says he hopes to use the grant money to conduct a traffic study in order to better understand the psyche of a typical driver in any given area in the GTA. The plan is, whenever Dad is at the front of the line at a red light, wait for the light to turn green and start the stopwatch. He is not going to move until someone honks; at which point he will record the length of time it took from green light to horn and proceed to his destination.

He has a whole section in his folder labeled "Troubleshooting". It's an interesting read to say the least and we have made copies for anyone who is interested (the copy itself is free but shipping is $9.99...we take paypal). This section covers such topics as:

-Reducing bias: where he discusses how he must behave at every light when the light turns green (namely, do not look occupied or busy...just stare straight ahead until the horny people reveal themselves).

-Excessive concern or aggression: where he discusses people who choose to exit their vehicle instead of using their god given car horn (for concern or aggression, he has a baseball bat and a supply of clown horns to throw at the "data")

-Overly patient data: where he discusses his own reaction if he is on a tight timeline and nobody is honking (the appropriate response is: after one full minute of not moving at a green light, put the car in reverse and inch backwards slowly...a horn should come soon. This data will be discarded from the rest of the study but Dad will treat himself to a Blizzard from Dairy Queen for forcing a horn out of someone who so obviously didn't want to use one)

We have our suspicions as to whether or not he will get his grant (especially if he shows the "gu'ment" his 'file').