The other day, Thing 1 was walking by while I was reading the obituary section of the paper. (I always check the obits. You don't want to call a client to remind them of their appointment if they no longer need their hair done.) Sometimes people put pictures of the deceased in the paper, along with the text. (Very handy, sometimes you don't know someone's name at all, just "Overly Friendly Guy Who Works Around the Corner", or "Lady On the Bus Who Only Ever Reads Danielle Steele". It's nice to know why you don't see them any more.) Anyway, I was reading the obits, and there was a picture of a roundish old guy with white hair and glasses, and Thing 1 points to him and says, "That guy's in there all the time".
Thing 2 and I were in the car this afternoon, discussing the possibility of a trip to Florida for the Loudshoes family this autumn. The last time we went to Disney World, we went right after American Thanksgiving, which, apparently, is the least busy week all year. I mentioned that maybe we would go that week again, since it was so nice to have it so quiet. Thing 2 mused that she hoped there would be an outbreak of "some sort of disease" so that everyone else would be too scared to travel, and we would have the place to ourselves. I laughed, and she was sort of surprised; I think she was serious.