Robin Writes

I am the sort of person who doesn’t believe Wet Paint signs.  I mean, sure, somebody took the time and effort to print up the sign, and stick it up with some masking tape, but that’s just hearsay evidence.  It could be an old sign, or it could be a prank, or it could be the work of a passing surrealist who was making an ironic comment about the nature of subjective semiotics.

I have to touch the damned wall and get paint on my hands.  Every time.  It’s like the sign is a challenge– “Maybe the paint is wet and maybe it isn’t–unless you touch it, you’ll never know!”

And don’t even get me started on waitress who tell me, “That’s plate’s hot!”  Those bitches are trying to kill me.

Any time I am given a piece of advice my first impulse to do exactly the opposite, just to…