Why be afraid of strangers?
Could there anything
stranger than Grace ?
I saw “Saving Grace” with and by Craig Ferguson, what a hoot. I’d love to have a greenhouse like that.
lovely green house, Grace had 
“Dubya Tee Eff” is pretty ecumenical, right? Right. There you go.
Is the Archbishop of Constantinople ecumenical?
I think it’s just in case.
Never mistake post numbers
for forum effect
Nor distraction for humour
Chiff and Fipple calm.
A refreshing effect.
No guile.
None?
Or are you just hopeful?
The wife’s clan shield has gules.
On its own, a good memo for anyone.
But let’s apply context, now: there was no humorous purpose in my above siggy. None. So I can’t help but reckon you made the mistake of presuming I meant otherwise due to a known habit of mine. While this is wholly understandable, there’s a glitch: tendencies are not destiny, a wry flavor not merriment, and IOW and IMHO we do well to not mislead ourselves when faced with the unexpected. The key to this last is the inner flexibility to discard the tragic adult habit of thinking mistakenly that asking simple questions is self-demeaning, that only pronouncements are becoming of our adult dignity even if it means we step on our own feet making them. It seems a recurrent theme that others often will not remember truths such as these for some reason. So time and again when people try to do the easy thing and conveniently pigeonhole me (why they feel compelled to bother is a mystery) it usually results in just another arrow gone wild of the mark. Perhaps I am to blame for refusing to sit still. Be that as it may the field around me is littered, bowstrings are tattered to no purpose, and yet despite the evidence the eye doctor sits idle and his children go hungry.
As for the post count: Numbers? Seriously? I think you’re entertaining presumptions about me again. But thank you for your concern. 
Now, tea, anyone?
Oh! I like tea! Like pigeons too, wrapped in bacon, dusted with paprika, and grilled. My bowstrings never get tattered since I use a “real” bow and I make my own, and speaking of grace, much more graceful than those modern things.
I’m trying to work the word “squabble” into a cute reply, but it just ain’t happenin’ for me.
whoa, not to, ah…
ya know we’ve been having a hard time finding Hungarian paprika around here…
There’s always pimentón. 
oh no ya don’t…
It’s enough with the Irish/Hungarian, first married to an Italian.
Let’s not bring the Spanish in!
ooh oops …
sorry if I caused any offence by inadvertent effect of an ambiguous post in which I used someone’s signature quotes as an epigraph for my own post which post being not intended to be directed to any one person but to all and sundry whose post count exceeds mine and a sample of whose posts demonstrates posts that I cannot understand which I now realise may be divine retribution in the form of poetic justice …
this apology is made without any external prompting, and is heartfelt and is not to be taken to be diluted by any qualification or any semblance or perceived parody of qualification in my preceding paragraph which though apparently (but not actually) verbose is driven by partial truth
and now dear reader I will again attempt an ecumenical spirit by reverting to the theme of the topic …
(more lines coming soon)
just poststructural spice in the wind, innit
poetic substance is a personal perceptual issue