A cry for something

A recent e-mail I sent to some friends of mine:
Hey guys,
OK, this is going to make me sound like I’m having serious issues with everything in my life, but you all might have a pulse on who’s good and who isn’t in the areas of health care and well-being.

I need a dentist who doesn’t think everyone in my family needs jaw surgery, and a doctor who will prescribe massage without a trip to her office whenever I pull a muscle. That or a chiropractor you absolutely love.

We also need to find someone who will eradicate the evil from our home. So I’m thinking a good therapist might be the ticket for that.

Any ideas would be most appreciated. Thanks!

Here's one reply.
From Patty:
Regarding the evil in your home ….I have the following recommendations:
- burn sage at both the front and back door
- share more meals as a family
- spend more time drinking with friends
- yoga
- win the lottery
- pray
- call me for lunch dates

Good luck with all that.

winged bras

I'd like to share a little bit of work humor with you.

Actually, not much about work is really that funny. What was I thinking??
OK, let me share something else with you.

A few months ago I went shopping with my daughter. She wanted to go to a special lingerie store because she can now wear real-life woman bras. Let's call it a very famous underwear boutique that started out as a catalogue for men who wanted to outfit their wives in uncomfortable lacey stuff, and then the young sons of the aforementioned husbands would dig through the garbage to retrieve, pour, paw and drool over it. Anyway ... this place has since grown into a chain of high-end mall stores known for outfitting women who willingly want to wear uncomfortable lacey stuff, and thongs.

OK, I'm not a thong gal, in fact I make fun of women who wear thongs. This is going to make me seem naive, but it wasn't until a couple years ago that I even recognized what a thong on a bent-over woman looked like. Coincidentally it looks REALLY uncomfortable. There's a badly placed piece of fabric that looks like it goes right up the crack of the woman's ass. That's what it looks like. And when I actually learned that that's what it did, I hated thongs even more. Several of my friends tried to convince me that thongs were OK. They now wear the things to yoga or with exceptionally slinky clothing.
I still made fun of them.
So you can imagine my surprise when my daughter had an unwritten agenda the day we went to this store. She wanted me to buy my first thong.

Wait! My daughter is all of 14 years old. How could she even be savvy to the uncomfortable lacey culture, this trashy pseudo sexy stuff? When did I lose the Barbie battle? Really, shouldn't girls her age be riding horses or dreaming about playing Twister with their friends? No I guess not, because no one plays Twister while they're wearing a thong and apparently that's what my daughter and her girlfriends are wearing these days.

So I tried to think back. What was risqué when I was growing up?
Pink Candie shoes.
The Freak and the Shake, dances where you looked like you might be dangerous if you got close enough to a boy.
Drinking.
Driving really fast.
Smoking pot.
Dropping acid.
Some other stuff I won't go into here.
And visiting Planned Parenthood.

But we didn't wear thongs.

So I looked at thongs with my daughter. She picked out a very bland conservative model. It was beige. And it was a little wider and had a more pronounced little triangle in the front. But there is nothing you can do about the backend of a thong. Those things are what they are. They are thongs.