The Grice Club


The Grice Club

The club for all those whose members have no (other) club.

Is Grice the greatest philosopher that ever lived?

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Friday, July 24, 2015

How Grice met his wife

It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very
chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.
I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her
standing alone in a corner.  She was a descript person, a woman in a
state of total array.  Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and
she moved in a gainly way.
I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make bones
about it since I was travelling cognito.  Beknownst to me, the
hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so
it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened.  And even
though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be
peccable.  Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.
Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause
was evitable.  There were two ways about it, but the chances that
someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata
or a sung hero were slim.  I was, after all, something to sneeze at,
someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused
bridled passion.
So I decided not to risk it.  But then, all at once, for some apparent
reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could
make heads and tails of.
I was plussed.  It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and
it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen.
Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt
capacitated---as if this were something I was great shakes at---and
forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number
of times.  So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall
and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.
Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to
prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous.  Wanting to make only
called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d'oeuvres, trying
to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a
few myths about myself.
She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory
character who was up to some good.  She told me who she was.  "What a
perfect nomer," I said, advertently.  The conversation became more and
more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail.  But I was
defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour.  I asked if she wanted
to come with me.  To my delight, she was committal.  We left the party
together and have been together ever since.  I have given her my
love, and she has requited it.

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