Spoonfuls of whoopass

Behold my act of rebellion:



Yes! It’s a floozy of a snow-woman, with erect nipples and tarty red cheeks. She may be wearing nice jewelry, but don’t let her fool you. She’s 100% bona fide Bad Girl.

She’s everything I want to be and more. Everything.

Why? Because my image is at stake! Last night over dinner, Chuck’s cousins told me I reminded them of a “modern day Mary Poppins.”

Jim Jiminy what?



I have nothing against Mary, but you have got to be kidding me. I don’t carry an umbrella, I don’t float, and I certainly do not sing to birds. I'm also not that happy. Mary is Xanax happy. I'm, like, Tums happy. And just because I look squeaky clean doesn’t mean I am. I can be badass and do bad things and you know, rough people up and stuff. I’m really intimidating in my cable knit cardigans and striped socks.

Don’t fuck with me, yo!

Of course, I couldn’t tell the cousins any of that because the conversation went like this all night:

Me: “Is your pork chop raw? I—”

Cousin #1: “It’s like my Aunt Edna used to make. Talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk Edna talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk Edna talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk honey glaze talk talk talk talk talk talk talk celery salt talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk Edna talk.”

Cousin #2: “It wasn’t Edna! It was Winky. Talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk. Talk Winky talk talk talk talk talk talk horseradish talk raisins talk talk Winky talk talk formaldehyde talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk cracked peppper talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk Winky talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk Winky talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk.”

After dinner, I sneaked downstairs for some Tylenol. I thought the maelstrom was behind me. Then I opened the medicine cabinet in the guest bathroom and saw this:



My virginal Poppins eyes were appalled. Who would put such a personal item in a guest bathroom—and next to Junior’s baby lotion? Then it hit me: My brother and his fiancee stay in the guest room all the time. His buxom lover must have stocked the medicine cabinet with her lubricant du jour.

Ew, ew, ew.

I did what any woman who has been likened to a Disney character and who now knows that her brother’s girlfriend experiences vaginal dryness would do: I went back upstairs and drank a lot.

I.Am.Tough.*

*I'm really not bad. I can't even kill spiders. Though I did get an F in Oceanography once.