“Correlation is not causation” is the phrase I use in that situation.

I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.

New:Subscribed until I catch up, then New:All to look for new communities to subscribe to.

What my mother called “allergy testing.”

Basically, myself and my siblings were placed on a diet that consisted of rice cakes (the puffed-rice-compressed-discs-of-bland type) and margarine for a few days to “detox.” Then we were introduced to foods to see if we had an “allergic reaction.” Two things stand out in my memories.

1. I specifically recall the sensation of waking in the middle of the night to vomit my “dinner” all over myself: an entire plate of overcooked, boiled, green (string) beans. This meant, to my deluded mother, that I was allergic to string beans. I’m not. Unfortunately, though, I couldn’t stand the taste of string beans for about 30 years after that.

2. Going to birthday parties as an eight year old and bringing your own rice cakes (the puffed-rice-compressed-discs-of-bland type) and margarine and not being able to partake of the cakes and candy and soda and other sugary deliciousness was both soul cruising and humiliating.

Edit: punctuating

My mother currently has dirt floors.

I don’t own them, so I don’t know about storage. The handles are on the same side as the rods so carrying them should be easy enough.

I see these a lot in my city.

How do you pronounce “they’re”?