Like a trumpeter who has lost his lip, I’m a chick who has lost her hip. Not the skeletal ball/joint variety (my post-pom pomming pelvis is just fine, thank you very much!) I refer instead to the metaphorical hip. Translation: I can no longer distinguish the cool from the drool. … [Read more...]

A woman can tell how much her man loves her, not by the things he buys her, or the love he professes, but whether he will pooper-scoop after the dog. “He’s your dog,” my husband grouses, settling back on pillows to watch the White Sox game. “But if you really loved me,” I … [Read more...]

The other day I saw the ugliest Mary Kay lady ever. I’m talking boo nasty. She was in the Wal*mart parking lot, loading up her pink rig, which, incidentally, is no longer a Cadillac or even a Lincoln. Now, apparently, the top sellers get -- hold onto your eyelash curlers -- pink … [Read more...]

I swear, new parents can be so competitive, always comparing what their babies did and when. “Susie walked at eight months.” (Yeah, right.) “Junior here was potty-trained at six months.” (And probably wet the bed till college, bless his heart.) I’ve even heard moms comparing how … [Read more...]

I am not much of a talker. In fact, I prefer head nods or minuscule smiles to extended chatter. When we are at social gatherings my wife often traces the letter “T” surreptitiously on my leg with her finger, as a sign that I should participate in the conversation. “T” means … [Read more...]