You're driving through an old mining town, population 58, and you decide to stop at the general store.  The cashier leans across the counter. "Ma'am, are ya buyin' the peanut butter or the honey?"  When you explain that you would like both, he shakes his head.  "This is Or Town, lady.  You might try Andsville--'bout a seven day drive from here."  He laughs demonically as he wrenches the peanut-butter jar from your grasp. You wake in a cold sweat.  Pulling on your bathrobe, you hurry into the kitchen to make yourself a delicious peanut butter and honey sandwich.

 

I have never liked the word Or.  Cake or ice-cream.  Christmas or Easter.  Bach or Brahms.  Why not both?   Even as a young child, I preferred "and" to "or."   Once when I was two, I saw a large animal in a field.  "Look, Mommy!" I shrieked.  "It's a cow!"  "No," said my mother.  "That's not a cow; it's a horsie."  I was stumped.   Horsie or cow?  Cow or horsie?   Then I had a revelation.  I could have it both ways!  "Okay," I said.  "It's a horsie named Cow."

 

After that triumphant moment, Or had a difficult time getting the better of me.  In fact, I usually succeeded in ignoring him altogether.  Should I sign up for choir or drama?   Sure, why not?  Should I take voice lessons or ballet?   You bet.   Should I audition for "The Music Man" or "The Diary of Anne Frank?"  Okay.  These choices were easy to make because I didn't have to make them at all.  I simply used my secret weapon--my wonderful little boolean buddy And--and did both.  This saved me from ever having to make a decision.   I outwitted Or simply by refusing to play his game.  My strategy was ridiculously primitive, but, hey! it worked.

 

Then I entered high school.  My classes were getting harder, my schedule was getting fuller, and Or seemed to be getting smarter by the minute.  He had finally picked up on my game plan and was craftily devising a strategy of his own.  A popular myth I picked up somewhere assured me that once I reached high school I, too, would start becoming more intelligent.  This proved to be tragically inaccurate.  Or had evidently surpassed my intelligence level, and he was ready to fight and fight hard.  I didn't stand a chance.  He began knocking pawns off my board before I had finished the 10^th grade.   And I knew he was closing in on my king when questions like "Should I take calculus or physics fourth period?" and "Should I go to college in or out of state?" began to arise.  I faced a new nightmare:

 

You walk into a nice restaurant.  The waitress pulls out her notepad.  "Let me guess. You'd like the Macho Meal complete with Jumbo Fries, a Hulky Hamburger, two King-Cones . . ."  "No," you say, "I'm not very hungry.  I'll just have the hamburger."  "That isn't possible, ma'am.  This is Andsville. You must eat everything on the menu."  The waitress snaps her fingers and an endless line of waiters begin piling food in front of you.  Soon you are drowning in a sea of Sprite, a lake of lard, a flood of fry sauce.  "Open up," giggles the waitress as she stuffs a salmon taco into your mouth.  You wake with your lips frozen in a silent scream.  Climbing into your Elmo slippers, you hurry to the kitchen to prepare yourself one very small hamburger.