Unladilike

The road [above: ⟨far⟩] ⟨joins towns together⟩: it promotes trade \& prudence/ and culture and the interchange of opinions: who could be unladilike [sic] upon the road?

The more I looked askance through my fingers, (pretending of course to be looking otherwise and elsewhere) by so much the more I was certainly positive that large lady is my wife indeed, and spying my comings-out and goings-in. Surely a rather shameful act to do. Eh? also unladilike.

Showed a “lady” the weather forecast for the weekend—and she made a very unladilike remark.

I was expelled from Our Glorious Lady a week before graduation for what the Sisters called “unladilike conduct,” but it was too late to take my name and picture out of the Platelet.

Boby Rosengarden’s band manages quickly to size up the topic of any discussion, and at commercial breakaway time play something entertainingly apriate:^([sic]) For the unladlike are-models-nasty-or-nice wrangle by Ford & Co.—Bobby’s band’s contribution was David Raksin’s nifty composition “The Bad and the Beautiful” . . .

I saw the first part of the episode. And here I always thought I liked Pierce Brosnan best well-groomed and suave. I think I like him angry and dirty even better 8-P(tongue hanging out in most unladilike fashion)

I'm not a patient person, actually, and I have quite a temper (for which I'm known). I can be rather unladilike in some of my responses and there is a point at which I willingly give up the pretense of civility and simply attack. I learned this from having to put up with my mother.

You can write multiple blocks anywhere else on the drive but not block zero. I consider this to be a *MAJOR* defect in the Quantum drives. And it forces me to reverse my stance on low level format utilities - with *GREAT* reluctance. (I have been known to use "impolite" and "unladilike" language before. I think I may have melted part of that poor disk drive the way I addressed it. It had a "wilted look" when I got done. And it still persisted in its bad behavior.)

Okay, show wheresh the party, shquire? *hic*

My mother used to scold me when I put my feet up against the wall like that. She said I would dirty the surface, but I don’t think she knew why it bothered her. Maybe she thought it was unladilike or a sign of laziness, maybe too much pride.