You don’t just pull up to a red light and start clapping. (Wait – right? You don’t, do you?) I saw a lady do that today. Just pulled up, alone in her SUV, and started clapping – entirely nonchalantly, as if she was at a show and something just ended. No phone, no companions, no expression on her face – nothing to explain the clapping.
I’m not entirely convinced that “the Pips” isn’t some disease that Gladys Knight had at some point early in her career and she named her backup singers that to cover it up when someone overheard her before a show.
“You’ve got the pips? Is it communicable?”
“No! No, what I mean is . . . I’ve got this group that sings behind me, see, and they’re called the Pips!”
“It still sounds like it’s going to need a shot.”
Looking back in the little “child mirror” I have mounted to my truck’s rear-view mirror (handiest device ever, by the way,) I saw Amanda putting her fingers to her nose. Not in it, just up to it. After a couple of instances of this, I asked her what she was doing, adding, “Are you smelling your fingers?” and she replied, very matter of factly, “No, I’m just scratching my finger.” I could only shake my head – there’s only so much sense you can make of what kids are doing half the time. A moment later, she exclaimed, “Hey, my fingers don’t smell!”