In the shower this morning, I heard on the radio those 6 words. I almost cried.
Ernest Hemingway wrote that, supposedly for a bet.
There is something un-nameable about it, something that is just so tragic. Maybe its the simplicity - the bare statement of the fact.
It is possible that he meant not for it to be so full of an aching feeling - he could be trying to say it was a boy instead of a girl, a gift never used because of an excess of such items.
But I (and almost everybody who called into the radio) read it as an unspeakable sorrow.
Which is pretty dang depressing for a Thursday morning, lemme tell ya. Nothing puts a damper on your day like hearing that as you shave your legs.
When I Googled it, I came across a blog in which the woman talked briefly about that. She was using it in relation to a news article, where the paper made a challenge; describe your life in 6 words.
What is your 6 letter story?
"Who'd of guessed I'd be here?"
And, ladies and gentlemen, your Daily Double -
"But I kind of like it"