My Normal Is Her Small

We're not simple folks. We can't have butter on our toast, because chances are Sassy wants to put garlic in that butter, and Kid wants to punch garlic in the schnozzle. We also can't have one browser on this computer; we are a family of multiple browsers.

Sassy has this thing for Chrome. It's alright, but it's pretty limited to folks who like bookmarking things in some semblance of "order," which she's inherently opposed to. Kid uses Firefox, because it was the first one he'd heard of that wasn't Internet Explorer way back when he was inexperienced in these things, so he went with it. Sassy doesn't use Firefox. Kid doesn't use Chrome. It isn't so much that we're opposed to using the other browser, just that we each have our own already.

This has absolutely no applicability to anyone. But see, I get to sit here and write what's in my mind, and you don't, so either read this some more or go look at your Facebook, see who wants you to send them wooden sticks for building their e-fires to send to friends in the form of rainbow hug-kisses. Fiery rainbow hug-kisses, I'm serious.

The problem with this multiple browser thing is this: when I write for this blog, I apply the font on "normal" size. Sassy applies the same font on "small" size in her browser -- and it is approximately the same size but not quite exactly, oh no. It is slightly, get this, bigger. Yes, the "small" setting is bigger. Chrome and Firefox, not fonty bedfellows.

And while we aren't a simple home, we're a uniform home, dagnabbit. We wear stupendous uniforms every day, to impose order and stability on an otherwise chaotic world. My uniform is a captain's uniform. Sassy's is this other uniform; she told me, but I wasn't paying attention. We're that kind of home, the uniform-wearing kind.

So while none of you care about this whatsoever right now -- except perhaps to wonder how these pain meds are treating me, to which I say "really flubgusteringly wonderfully, thanks" -- we sit around and ponder this strange browser issue in our uniforms and work on ways to correct it all in the end, just for our own edification. 

We're those kinds of people. The kind in uniform.


  1. On your finger scale, how high are you right now?

  2. I'd probably have needed three hands. But I wasn't feeling pain, so I don't mind.

  3. I have to comment here because J and I use separate browsers too! I thought we were weird, but apparently not.

  4. We could all discuss this over pedicures with tequilas. Except for me, I'll be stealing everyone's valuables and driving down to Mexico.


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