Last week, on a gorgeously sunny afternoon, I took my dog for a walk in the cemetery. We moved slowly—Libby pausing to smell that flower, chew on those sticks—along the stately row of hemlocks the borders the “Olde Burying Ground,” coniferous soldiers standing at attention before weather-worn marble headstones.
Upon passing a groundskeeper, who had looked up at the sound of Libby’s jingling tags, I was reprimanded with the following: “A young girl like you should be running, not walking!” He swung his arms like a marathoner as he spoke, as if that would make his comment funny or clever, as if that would ease the harsh sting I felt from his comment, the implicit accusation of laziness.
I loathe the word should. In fact, I find it to be one of the most asinine words in the English language. (Asinine, on the other hand, is a great word.)…
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Bright, shiny objects! 
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