Bring in the boom chicks

The clock is ticking. And I was born in the wrong decade. The wrong century maybe. But there's no fixing that.

I made lasagna and insalata di caprese tonight. I never cook as much as when I'm in someone else's kitchen. I would. I just don't. As with so many other things, I'm not as keen to do something wonderful in the absence of an audience. Even if it's just one. Applause is applause.

Upon seeing my new splash page, my mom, wrestling with the word "seductive," said, "It's very seduh...seduh...seduh...it's slutty."

When I get carded, some people look at my driver's license picture, with a twenty-two or twenty-three year-old Mary in a black dress with a white neckline, and they ask if I used to be a nun. Never mind that the photo exposes a nice enough set of collarbones and a dash of the ol' maquillage. Me with a smile and a hairband and a black and white dress equals nun. Maybe I'm just overcompensating.

I'm due for some wonderment, I think.