Comb: (n) a strip of plastic, metal, or wood with a row of narrow teeth, used for untangling or arranging the hair.

There are actually brave storm troopers who might use a comb to free their hair of knots.

It is not recommended for the squeamish.

Actually, the purpose of a comb is to prove that one’s hair is not tangled. Whatever you have to use to separate your strands, at the end of
that process, to confirm to yourself and everyone else that your “do” is without dead ends, you run a comb through it.

For combs are unmerciful. They will find any hairs lying on top of each other that might be in the way and pull on them until tears come to your eyes.

This is the purpose of a comb.

A comb is also used if you don’t have much hair at all, and therefore little danger of interaction with your locks, just for good grooming.

That’s why we often say, “they combed the desert” or “they combed the woods” to find something or someone.

Matter of fact, it might be good for all of us, after we’ve brushed up on our ethics and kindness, to run a comb through our lives to make sure that we’re free of being entangled.


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dictionary with letter A

Arm: (n) each of the two upper limbs of the human body from the shoulder to the hand.

I do believe that many times we are actually upset about how well our body parts work together. Let me explain.

If the foot hurts, the rest of the body expresses its sympathy by having the brain note the pain and informing all the other members that they may be pulling extra duty during the day.

This became obvious to me when I woke up one morning and had slept on my arm in such a way that it felt sprained. The shocker came when I realized that this particular dangling participant in my human form performs many functions that I never even think about. So it was virtually impossible to wash myself in the shower, brush my teeth, comb my hair or reach for my box of cereal at the breakfast table.

Each time I did, I was reminded by a conscientious brain that the part of my anatomy I wished to be using was presently on sick leave.

This was communicated through pain.

Within an hour, though, I had become somewhat adept at utilizing my other arm for some functions. I also used my legs more to perform duties instead of reaching to achieve my quest.

I was mindful of my hurt arm and gave it the respect it was due, while simultaneously trying to gently “exercise” it of its demon.

It lasted all day long–and even though I was very glad when I woke up the next morning to discover I had usage back in my limb, I was impressed by the efficiency of my body and simultaneously humbled that some way or another… I can’t always find that same cooperation with the people around me.


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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix


by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

ABO: (n.) A system of four basic types–A, AB, B and O–into which human blood may be classified, based on the presence or absence of certain inherited antigens.

I realize that I would make a terrible vampire.

I would be great with the intellectual pursuit–in other words, studying the types of blood, speculating on the various textures or flavors. Occasionally at a dinner party, I might pull off sipping some of the hemoglobin, to be fashionable or even fun-loving. But I could never be a guzzler.

I think the teeth bother me, too. Talk about telegraphing your intentions–with two pointy incisors protruding from your jowls!

I don’t particularly like the hours, either. I work best in the morning, and after midnight, I kind of zone out.

I guess I am one of those weirdos who never understood the romantic or sexual energy from the whole vampire thing. In the midst of pleasure, I really don’t want to be bitten. If that makes me the non-adventurous type, then so be it. I especially would not want to be chewed on if the goal was to drain my blood. Isn’t a certain amount of blood circulation necessary to achieve pleasure?

I guess vampires confuse me.

The only advantage they have seems to be immortality, but if you end up working a blood-sucking job, what’s the glory of living forever?

I don’t think I’m a fuddy-duddy and if somebody nibbled on my neck a bit in the throes of passion, producing some tingles, it would be fine. But I think I would be a very dishonest vampire. I would have to pretend I was turned on by the look and probably would end up pouring V-8 Juice in my glass to fool my fellow-believers, and also to get my two servings of vegetables.

Yes, blood types are really nice to think about if you need blood. Other than that, it’s kind of icky.

So if there is a choice in the matter, I choose NOT to be a vampire. I’m not really interested in vampires, and I, for one, think Dracula is creepy rather than sexy.

But I guess if you want to be overtaken, bit on the neck and have all your blood drained as a type of foreplay, this is the United States of America–a free country. Go for it.

Not for me. I’m still trying to learn the intricacies and techniques of French kissing.