More Meta Commentary

Things I truly appreciate:

• The idea that we're cycling together (We're in love! Plus, I get to picture us all on a giant tandem bike with dozens of sets of pedals.)
  
• Tips on stain removal [Deleted parenthetical comment about the state of the author's undies]
  
• Suggestions about menstrual products (The Keeper! The Liza Minelli! The Moonbeam! The Spongebob Period Pants! Who new? Well, besides every last one of you guys.)
• When dissenting voices do not post anonymously (For real! Thank you!)
  
• The fact that so many of you are so naked so much of the time
• The fact that so few of you were paying close enough attention to worry in the first place about anybody driving sloshed
  
• The image of bloody zucchini

And "Celia"'s comment, of course--our beloved friend "Celia":

"This article is fantastic; is very interesting and is really good written. It’s just great!! Do you want to know something more? Read it... Glass Bongs and Bong featuring Herbal Smoke, water bongs, bongs online head shop, Marijuana Alternative,glass water bongs, Hashish, Ganja, homemade bongs, Smokeshop, cannibis, legal smoking alternatives for herbal highs and aphrodisia."

Now that's high praise. But really--is anyone looking online to purchase a "homemade bong"? Is it, like, $15 through Paypal, and then you get a box in the mail with a bent Coors Light can in it?

My wondertime column this week is here.

And can I just recommend again that the rest of you Western Mass folks schedule a massage for yourself or a friend with Dr. Hunky? If you already have, I know you haven't been disappointed. We don't call him Mister The Hands for nothing.

Edited

The funny thing is that I had actually written "I" about drinking that wine--but then became self conscious about the lonely sound of it, and so changed it to "we" the better to convey, you know, the fellowship of moderate alcohol consumption there at our friends' house. I didn't want you to think it was somehow just me in the corner with a blanket and a bottle while everyone else sat at the table soberly planning some kind of 12-step intervention.

But then, of course, oops--I made it sound like some kind of DUI/snowstorm situation when really Michael hardly even ever drinks at all.

Because he's too busy huffing ether.

Meanwhile, here's my question of the day: if you were designing a tampon, would you play a kind of menstrual practical joke whereby you appended a string that appeared to be a handy removal advice--but was really a kind of wick to draw blood quickly from body to underpants without soiling the pristine cotton of the tampon itself? This is my question. I would not think to make such a joke myself, but I see that someone has.

And really, I'm just laughing my head off. Because it's funny to see Mama's undies soaking in the sink like she beheaded someone in the night and then mopped at their bloody neck stump with a wadded up pair of Gap bikinis. Really. It's not the stuff of future psychoanalytic emergency sessions, I'm sure. Just good old-fashioned fun.

Talking About the Weather

I don't know what it is with me--maybe it's all the gigondas wine we drank with dinner that had such a gigantic sound to it that I became gigantically tipsy straight away--but I never felt frightened on our drive home: after our friend pushed us out of his driveway, Michael slid elegantly from one side of the road to the other, we drifted into snowbanks, we saw cars shuddering off the road and pitching into ditches--and the whole time I had a cozy winter feeling as if I were underneath a blanket watching The Nutcracker on TV.

I had intended to write this as a happy post about the gorgeous, late-season snowfall, but instead I seem to have revealed yet another of my personality disorders. What's this one? Treacherous Weather Dissociation? Sleet Mania? I'm not sure.

But it really is lovely here. I don't mind it right at the end like this--winter's little parting joke. If it weren't for the fact that we were supposed to see my parents, and must now wait a week, I would be just about perfectly happy.

Also because I'm not living through this.

I have got to encourage you to read the comments on this one. All I can say, with respect to barfing children, is: I'm glad we don't have a dog.

Warts and All

Thank you, as always, for your advice. I wrapped a banana peel around my heel, strapped a potato to it with duct tape, scraped at it with a pumice, an emery board, a microplane zester, and a tea-tree oil soaked cotton ball, dabbed it with plain old nailpolish remover and urine, and voila! I woke in the morning and the entire foot had falled off onto the mattress. I trust it won't grow back.

Wouldn't that be a great short documentary film? "Warts"? Just sped up and spliced together shots of people treating their warts in a million different ways, maybe set to The Sound of Music theme song? If you want to option it, you know how to find me. . .

I have a column here and here. If you're inclined to weigh in on the juggling issue, please do; they're wondering if that's an interesting topic of conversation among mothers. Hope you guys are all thriving.