A cold attitude is bad

What a strange man... acting as cold as the Arctic ice, neither smiling nor speaking—does he think he's the Mona Lisa or something?

Oops... sometimes I speak the absolute truth. I can't stand men like this—the kind who, if you ran into them in the middle of the night, would make you bolt so fast you’d leave your sandals behind in sheer terror.

To make matters worse, my brother once said to his son—who was dark-skinned and prone to scowling like a kaffir lime—"Hey... why are you scowling and looking so sour? It’s a good thing you’re a boy; if you were a girl, we’d have to scrape together a fortune just to buy you a husband someday."

Upon hearing that, I burst into uproarious laughter—so much so that I didn't even notice my nephew's sandal landing squarely on my head as punishment for laughing at him.