Lately the folks at Pandora Radio, through one of their pop up windows, have been trying to set me up on a date with hot guys in the 50s, all of whom look like Richard Gere. You’d think that, nailing my age more accurately than most of my friends, these cyber match makers would know [...]
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Now I am not naÃ¯ve enough to think that bad things donâ€™t happen. Bad things happen to all of us, every single day, and for that reason I look for the total opposite in my reading pleasure.
Thatâ€™s why itâ€™s called reading â€œpleasure.â€
Really, I think that I am a remarkably easy woman to please, and back to my Stranger in the Afternoon who wanted to knit but didn’t have the space, I am flabbergasted at the barriers people put up in the way of getting things done — and I don’t mean walls that block out front doors.
Progeny of mine, you know Thongs as Flip Flops, and a G-string is not something you find on the guitar. It is best not to wear flip flops to a White House function, and as to wearing a thong there, do not do so in your hair, and do not discuss the other way of wearing it over pre-dinner cocktails (which, come to think of it, you are too young to partake of anyway).
Now as all of you with mothers know, the maternal instinct is hardwired to instill manners in our progeny — by example, by non-stop reminding, by force if necessary — and my personal preference is to set before my charges the image of a state dinner at the White House, prefacing each example with,
One’s genius with microbes and viruses and tropical diseases was all used up on the older siblings, he had plenty of his wretched eyesight to dump in my DNA, with the result that I began wearing eyeglasses in the third grade, when I thought to myself, “If only the teacher would write in BRIGHT RED chalk and MUCH BIGGER, I would be able to read it.”