Thank G-d she didn't want a lollipop

I took my six year old daughter T. to see Disney Live! Princess Edition.

She wanted popcorn and a blue drink.

It came to $24.

It's okay.

I laughed out loud too.

Next time I'll go straight for the Botox

Conference luncheon.  Across a crowded hotel ballroom, I see a woman wearing a black coat, with a bright orange cambridge satchel worn cross-body, messenger style.

The minute the speeches are over and the last hand has clapped, I tap the woman (who incidentally also had flame colored hair - FABULOUS) on the shoulder and gush inappropriately  demurely admire her bag.

A few days later Husband wants to show me something on the computer.  Completely assume that it's going to be a clip from the A-team or Night Court.  Maybe some new rims for his car.

Nope.

He noticed that at the conference I accosted some poor innocent attendee stopped this orange chick to ask her about her bag.  He wanted to show me that a friend of ours mentioned the bag in her blog.  But wait a second, while he's paging down to show me the bag, I see these boots.







Fourteen hours later, I am handing the boots to a salesgirl.

"Who are these for? and what size is she?"

"Are you saying I'm too old for these boots?" (tapping my foot to the blaring music)

"Nnno.  I just assumed they were for a gift."

(Uh-huh. Because everyone knows shoes do not usually have to be tried on and are normally bought as gifts).

Cash.  Salesgirl hands boots to cashier.

Cashier looks at me.  Looks at her phone.  Looks at me.  Looks at the boots.

I look at the feather earrings, the fluorescent shoe laces, the pictures of Justin Bieber and Charlie Sheen.

Cashier looks back at me:

"Feeling young at heart today?"

Complaint tie-in:

I broke a personal rule on this one.  Usually if I wore something when it was in style the first time, I don't wear it the second time.  But I had to make an exception for Doc Martens.

Please don't rub it in.

I also have a cousin who studies Sanskrit, one who does the Ironman and one who lives in Vermont

Last night for dinner we baked one of the 250 pounds of cod that my cousin caught off the coast of Newfoundland this summer.  His wife is a born and bred Newfoundlander, and they spend a lot of time on the East Coast (clearly much of it fishing).

I mention this because I have a wide and varied family featuring many, many cousins (anyone remember Mr. Kotter and his endless uncles?) all of whom enrich my life in all sorts of ways.

Tonight's featured cousin keeps me informed of the travesties against humanity political scandals at her women's college.

Latest ridiculousness features an article about S-E-X published in the college paper that led to the paper losing its funding.

Sex? In college? What next - a keg party? A Pro-choice rally?

But this is no ordinary school tabloid. It's the only co-ed paper at a religious women's college.  And the article is a first person account written by a girl who allegedly went what used to be called all the way with her boyfriend before they were married.  Part of the controversy was that said boyfriend removed his yarmulke prior to the illicit encounter.  (Wondering if it would've been worse had he left the kippa on during some of the dicier moves).

Publication met with complete pandemonium.  Postings, e-mails, petitions, hell - there were whole editorials about this.  I think I saw somewhere that the paper's $500 of school funding was withdrawn.  They took the story down, which created even more internet hits, so they put the story back up.  Media coverage included the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times.

I am trying to figure out why everyone's knickers are in a twist.

Possibilities:
1.  Girls should not be having sex before they are married.
2.  If they are having sex, they should not be talking about it.
3.  If they are having sex and talking about it, they should not be writing about it.
4.  If they are having sex, talking about it and writing about it, they should not be publishing it.
5.  If they are having sex, talking about it, writing about it and publishing it, for Crissakes, they should not be reading about it.

One problem with all of the above.

This is not an article about a young woman caught in the throes of passion getting it on with the doorman in the alley behind the bodega.

This is about some college chick who thought premarital was a good idea but then realized it wasn't for her.  Don't make the same mistake I did, girlfriends. It's not what its cracked up to be.

Maybe instead of panicking, the censors should have actually read the article.

Had they bothered to take a look, they would've seen that:

1.  The couple were in a committed relationship (with each other)

2.  They were religiously aligned (aka both Orthodox Jews)

3.  They were both of consenting age

4.  They were off campus at the time

and to me, the absolute cherry on the sundae, if you will -

5.  SHE HAD SECOND THOUGHTS

Censors, you missed the boat here.  You could have had a great cautionary tale.  A "lessons learned".

Instead you ended up with an embarrassing lack of commitment to freedom of speech, blatant sexism and more internet hits than you really deserved.

And all I ended up with was a few pounds of cod.

Maybe the other families make their beds and know where their library books are

Friend M. asked me today if I ever get tired of being a wife and mother.

I don't get tired of being a wife and mother, I answered, sometimes I just get tired of being a wife and mother to this particular collection of people.  I am sure there are lovely families somewhere else in the world that would be lots of fun to wife and mother.

This is where I think polygamists are missing the point.

I have seen sister-wives interviewed on TV multiple times and I can't help but notice how alike they are.  They all wear the same clothes, talk with the same accents, probably even prepare the same Cowboy casseroles.  

Guys: if you have a license to marry a bunch of different women, maybe you should exercise a little more creativity.  Go old.  Go young.  Go foreign.  The world is your oyster.

No where in your scripture does it say Thou must marry cookie cutters.  (Actually, I have no clue what it says in their scripture. I'm totally improvising).

Sometimes you see these same husbands being interviewed. They are smirking at the camera, because they think they have scored big time.  Look at me, they are saying, I have two people to pick up my socks, and you only have one.

Guys, the joke is on you.  You are buying a magazine and coming home to discover you already own the exact same issue. The covers were similar so you got confused.  Understandable.  But next time, think past the long jean skirt.  Saris? Sombreros?  Stilts?

Complaint tie-in:

Everyone has days where we complain about our jobs, whether it be wife-ing, mother-ing or folding sweaters in a department store.  That's why if you have an opportunity to try something different - say, folding red mohair instead of navy cable knit - go for it.  You may still be folding sweaters, but it will be a lot more fun.

Four stories where the punch line is: It could be worse, it could have been a gerbil

Story 1:
T (6 year old) comes up from basement.

Where were you?

Just feeding my goldfish brunch.

Me: Your goldfish eats brunch?

Husband:  We have a goldfish?

Goldfish is one of those miracle pets that is fed sporadically, never has clean water, and has lived to the ripe old age of three and a half.  How could husband have not noticed?

Well, I guess I can forgive him for not noticing a fish. They are quiet and unobtrusive.

It could be worse, it could have been a gerbil.



Story 2:
Open our eyes.  Snow.

Kids, get your boots on.

What boots? (No one has boots.)

Look in my closet.  One orange boot.  (Even worse than two missing boots is one missing boot.)

Guess we were over-enthusiastic in our spring cleaning.

Jump in car and head for evil retailer giant which opens at 8am.

Kids put on winter coats for the first time in months.

G reaches into his pocket and pulls out a yogurt tube.  A yogurt tube that has been sitting in his pocket since last winter.

Ewww. Gross.

It could be worse, it could have been a gerbil.

Story 3:
Speaking engagement at the Rotary Club.  Seated at Head Table.  Table-mate regaling me with tales of her reign as Sales Associate at a hardware store in England.

Seems she had a rich eccentric customer who visited her quite frequently.

At one point, he offered her a lift home.  She gets into his Rolls Royce Silver Cloud and there are ten newly hatched chicks running around the car.  It seems his wife wanted the chicks for an easter party.

It could have been worse, it could have been a gerbil gerbils.

Story 4:
Friend of a friend of a friend has a neighbor who was in a play group with a kid who has a cousin who lives across the street from a little girl who accidentally hugged her hamster too tight.  Hamster died.

Mother brought home another hamster.  Kid enthusiastically hugged hamster #2.

Hamster died.

Mother said, third time's a charm and brought home a third hamster.  Kid loved hamster #3 so much, she hugged it until it, too, greeted St. Peter at the pearly gates.

It could be worse, it could have been a - wait, never mind.