The Five-Second Rule

Your new password must contain a capital letter, a number, a symbol, a hieroglyph, your blood type, and the name of your first heartbreak. You may not reuse your first heartbreak.

Okay, we lied. That was ten seconds. Reset it.

Official ruling: toast that lands butter side down is not dirty. It’s seasoned.

Five seconds: the time it takes to forget why you walked into this room.

The microwave says 0:01. You open the door anyway, like a criminal.

You waved back at someone who was waving at the person behind you. Commit. Keep waving.

The five-second rule does not apply to anything dropped on a bus. Nothing applies on a bus.

The waiter said “enjoy your meal.” You said “you too.” You thought about it on the drive home. Then in the shower. Then at 3 a.m. Then again just now.

Okay, we lied. That was ten seconds. You’re still thinking about it.

The gap between “should I say hi?” and walking past them forever: five seconds.

Five seconds is exactly how long you stare into the fridge hoping it restocked itself.

Your phone is at 1%. You have five seconds to decide who you really love.

You hit Reply All. You now have five seconds to make peace with your choices.

Five seconds: how long a dropped cookie is legally yours. Six seconds: it belongs to the dog.

Scientists say the five-second rule is a myth: bacteria jump onto dropped food in under a second. Scientists have clearly never dropped the last peanut butter cup in the house.

Okay, we lied. That was ten seconds. Get over it.