Kissing don’t last:  cookery do!

- George Meredith

“Ring ring. Hello? Oh, hi. I’m behind your car number 4569 right now. I just wanted to let you know that his driving seems to be pretty good. Took that last left turn a little slowly but other than that seems just fine. Thanks for asking.”

I was lying in bed last night in my long-sleeve pyjama top, long pyjama pants, fleece jacket and socks, reminiscing about the days when sleepwear was optional. I am married to a repressed nudenik (he now actually sleeps in briefs and a tee) who would be much more comfortable lying naked on a sunny beach somewhere. While I never really enjoyed sleeping nude (or being awake nude anywhere for that matter), I certainly used to get by without having to wear several layers of fleece to bed.

Don’t get me wrong, I do own some of the slinky stuff, but I’m never quite sure when to wear it - before, during or after? and then there’s always the prospect of the dreaded cold. Nothing squelches the fire more quickly than feeling like a goose-fleshy lump in search of the nearest heat lamp or hot water bottle.

There must be some kind of linear model correlating sleepwear and the length/stage of intimate relationships. You know, lingerie in the courting stage, pretty nighties in the honeymoon years, and flannel in the “don’t-ever-impregnate-me-again-you-bastard years.” My mother-in-law also calls her flannel nightie her “show’s over” nightie. Fleece takes your relationship to a whole new level.

As it is the beginning of a new year, I will, once again, not make any resolutions.

While helping her grandma put together emergency kits for our family, my daughter asked “Dad, if there’s an earthquake, what would you like for lunch?”

Okay, this one’s not as bad as the “butts on parade” rant I had last time. But, it is kinda funny and I’m sure it is some kind of scientific observational human behaviour kinda weirdness that someone is sure to get millions of dollars in university funding to study in an in-depth way.

My husband and I swear that every day, in every kind of weather, we see at least one person in shorts. Take today for instance: blowing wind, torrential downpour, generally unpleasant kind of weather. I saw not one, but two different people in flip flops and shorts. Take a look around - and you too will start to notice the shorts! people.

Is it just me or is it getting more and more difficult to make it through an entire day without seeing someone’s butt crack? The other day on the ferry I had the “pleasure” of sitting behind (pun intended) a woman whose thong and butt were hanging out of the back of her jeans. Today, an un-petite clerk was squatting down restocking some shelves and I swear her whole butt cheek was hanging out. I even did a double-take just to make sure I had actually seen her butt and not just a lunar eclipse. This was not a small butt people, this was un-missable. Can you not feel the air-con on your butt? Can you not feel your jeans down around your knees? I just don’t get it.

My daughter just had a lesson on “body science” at her school, which included the correct biological terms for pee and poo. She now refers to her stuffed teddy as “Winnie the Stool.”

This coincides well with her recent spelling word sentence: “I am funny.”

It’s my birthday.  I’m going to eat bacon.

A woman who can pee into a urine specimen container without peeing all over her hand.  Who designed those things anyway?  Certainly no one who has any first hand knowledge of female anatomy.