Grapefruit, fitted sheet, nail polish, Dr. Phil.

Those were the notes I put together for the post I was going to write last night.  But then Dr. 90210 had to go and air back to back episodes of post-gastric bypass tummy tucks.  And I couldn’t. Look. Away.  Seriously, have you seen the enormous chunks of fat they saw off?  And don’t get me started on the belly button reconstruction.  I have nightmares about them, little slippery hot dog ends.  *shivers* Damn you, Dr. Rey.

Yesterday I managed to wrangle a work-free day, which Emerson and I planned to spend at the Philadelphia zoo with this lovely woman and her delicious son.  We got ourselves together, lunches, diapers, 3,893 spare toys for the car ride, and I miraculously managed to shower and put on something that resembled a real outfit.  Then I caught the traffic report on the radio – PA turnpike completely closed. Huge crash. Annnnnnnd those plans went out the window.

What to do with a free day?  The prospects were dizzying.  After careful consideration, what tender morsels of excitement did I choose?  Scrubbing vinyl siding.  Weeding flowerbeds.  It’s hard to keep up such a rock and roll lifestyle.  One thing I learned…if you simply can’t remember what underwear you’re wearing on a given day, just weed a flowerbed in the front yard and the truck drivers passing by are sure to provide a helpful reminder.  With a nice honk for emphasis. Pink. Thong. Yes.  Thanks ever so.

Speaking of pink, I love pink grapefruit.  So I buy it often.  The problem is, any grapefruit that enters this house is doomed to existence as a withered, yellow shotput in the fruitbowl. This aggravates Michael to no end.  If you’re not going to eat it, why do you buy it? My answer is essentially a lack of commitment.  The intentions are good, but the follow-through needs some work.  You see, there is only one proper way to eat a grapefruit.  It’s true. It must be peeled, meticulously manicured of white bits and stringy bits and gently broken in half. Each section must be separated by hand, lightly flayed by a delicate slice across the center, the delicate skins pulled back.  Only then may each section be enjoyed in all its pulpy goodness, the deflated epidermis of each section tossed aside like little grapefruit corpses. It is long and meticulous process.  Hannibal Lecter would be proud.  But full commitment is necessary, and the only thing I can dutifully commit to are new episodes of Heroes and weekly runs to Rita’s for Mistos. And I missed this week’s episode so…there you go (anyone see it?  What happened to Micah?  Do future and present Hiro duke it out and what’s with the soul patch, future man? Hello?)

Someone who has no issues with commitment.