The Y is silent? Silent? Are you sure? I don't remember this grammatical rule. I before E...yes..except after C...yes..and sometimes Y...right...but the Y has always had a voice! The Y must always be heard!
Not this time sister cyclist. Every now and again you come across a situation that has no answer. I don't love it, but there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Toast success, I guess; good thing there's a beer handy in my cage.
This is another one of those life parallels that played itself out several times this week. Some things just don't have a 'why'. Why? Didn't your mother ever tell you, because I said so. Sometimes it doesn't matter, sometimes no one knows, sometimes...Christ on a Kestrel just let it go!
Grit, grime, grease, gunk, gross. I'm not sure what or how, but my bike is no longer creaking. Thank the lord Amen. I was about to stick it on a boat to Africa...I can you know!? I'm not sure I found the answer, perhaps it was the Ick. The Ick is never good. It has ruined the best relationships, felled mighty royals, flattened political wannabees. I say blame the Ick.
Oh, but then the Y isn't really silent. Well you know what, two negatives don't really make a positive either, but that one's been around since the beginning of A. Well, I'm using my emotional license to manipulate the truth. You try sleeping in this brain with puzzles unsolved! It was the ICK I tell you!
Besides, I still don't know how ESPN got into Mic 11 so there's your Silent Y. And if you hear Sara Walsh talking on top of one of our reporters you'll know why, but I won't.