Traditionally, Robert's Rules Of Order has referred to a set of guidelines and whatnot for conducting business and/or debates in a large-ish group setting. It's been around, for, like, ever. Prolly since Moses -- which makes me wonder why they don't call it Moses' Rules of Order.
I'll bet those rules of ordering were used way back then, with Moses. Moses prolly said, "I'd like to make a motion, that we cross the desert for a lotta years." Then the chairman said, "Can someone second that?" Someone provided a second and there was a vote. The Children-of-Israel said "yeigh," the Gentiles said "neigh," and the rest is history.
Well. Spouse established his own Robert's Rules of Order this weekend. See, I had this new kickin'-it print that stylishly celebrated The Rules of Survival. These Rules of Survival were originally established for those thrown among a land of zombies (Zombieland, if you will), but has morphed itself in the daily practice of one runner who calls herself Rabid (Rabidrunner, if you will.)
This print is kickin'. So kickin' is this print that it needed it's very own frame.
So where do folks around here go when looking for frames? Some go here, and some go there, but Rabid, she goes to Roberts Crafts. Mostly because it's close. On my way out the door, I said to Spouse, "Spouse. Wanna come with me?" He said, "Why sure."
(In his defense, I don't rightly recall if I was altogether truthful in my representation of where we were actually going. I told him we were off to fetch a frame. My newly acquired axioms for abiding were in need of a final resting place.)
We traveled to Roberts Crafts. We walked into Roberts Crafts. Me, being somewhat schooled in the arts of crafts, knew just exactly where the frames were. I marched right in that direction... not knowing that Spouse couldn't keep up with my march. See, Spouse had skied that day with Winder's husband. We call this Winder-attachment Delmar, and the guy is ruthless. A day on the slopes with Delmar is a day you'd wish for death, for he's a skiing savage who is ferocious in his fastness, atrocious with the "air," stupidly stupendous down steeps, and barbaric on the bumps. I get tired just thinking about it.
Funny Delmar story. We were skiing once. I got all whiney 'n stuff, then told Delmar that trying to keep up with him made me tired. So, you know what Delmar said? "WELL QUIT TURNING SO DANG MUCH." Delmar thinks I turn too much.
What Delmar must know, however, is that my brain has a permanent indentation of Mikey (my ole man) yelling, "DO YOUR TURNS!" So that's why I turn. Mikey likes it when I turn. (Don't anyone tell Mikey, but I like it when I turn too. Thank ya pops! For teaching me to ski!)
So, Spouse skied with Delmar, and I took the Yahoos to their Piano Festival. That's why Spouse had tired legs and couldn't keep up with my march at Roberts Crafts, which, mind you had commenced after an 18-mile run, a piano festival, a birthday party, and no nap.
ANYWAY... I marched right to the frame section within this Roberts Crafts, and Spouse became lost. I chose the frame and went back to find Spouse. When I finally found him, all dismayed and blubbering like a kid who had dropped his sucker, he said, "You forgot Roberts' Rules of Order. "
"Oh yeah?" Said I.
"You CANNOT leave a man alone in a craft store. Else people will think I'm in a craft store by choice. If I'm with you, then people will know that I've been ordered to be in the craft store."
Roberts' Rules of Order.