As Jesse was offensively driving to work the other day a Maryland driver slowed for a green light on the off chance that the light might change yellow. I’ve noticed Maryland drivers’ proclivity for this. It is particularly infuriating when you know that missing the light by our house means an extra 4 full minutes of idling at the intersection.

Anyway, as this typical Maryland driver slowed dramatically and then panicked into an almost stop as the light turned yellow, Jesse hollered that this particular Maryland driver was a “stooopid bitch!” This exclamation was immediately followed by Karis chanting in perfect diction, “Bitch, bitch, bitch!”

I KNOW you’re not supposed to react when your child says these kinds of words, as that only gives the word more power and allure, but it was SO HARD to not burst out laughing at her inflection.

When I managed to get my snickering under control I calmly asked her, “Do you know what a bitch is?”

“No.” She said.

“A bitch is a girl dog.” I said.

“Oh.” She answered dead pan, and changed her chant to “Girl dog, girl dog, girl dog.”

I haven’t heard her say “bitch” since. She does however say “Shit” with the best of them…

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I never used to understand why there were so many movies made about middle aged men magically becoming young again. Be it through switching bodies or waking up as their younger selves, the old-man-to-younger-boy stories have been a part of Hollywood’s menu since the days of the nickelodeon.

Well, as I sit here staring 31 in the face I finally get it.

My driver’s license claims I’ve been of legal age to vote for over 12 years. So why am I always 17 in my mind’s eye? If you stop and picture yourself in your mind, what age are you?

It’s not that I think of 30 as old. Not by a long shot! I don’t even consider it approaching middle age. I just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I am an adult. An adult that is responsible for the well being of two relatively helpless young people. What?! Who left ME in charge?

Anyway – let’s get to the question at hand. Is 30 old enough to be called a “cougar”? I ask because twice in the last month I’ve caught myself fully appreciating the likes of a shirtless Craig Horner and an over-coifed Zac Efron. Um… These boys are only 21 years old. I’m not old enough to be their mother, but I’m only getting older and Hollywood’s crop of man meat tends to stay around 21.

I sure do like the pretty boys. My husband is living proof of that! Perfect male specimens in my book have eyes to get lost in and beautiful full lips. Let us recall St. Elmo’s Fire Rob Lowe or Thelma and Louise Brad Pitt. I salute you, 21 year old pretty boys. You make becoming a cougar worth the label.

UPDATE: It turns out Craig Horner is 26 – woo hoo! I think that makes me a little less creepy, no?

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I couldn’t get the word “haverdash” out of my head last night. Try as I might the damn thing kept circling around and keeping me awake.

There was no doubt in my mind that it was an actual word in the English language and that it had something to do with elderly men that craft top hats out of various rodent furs.

Upon waking, I checked the one true authority on all things wordy – Webster-dictionary.net
The closest thing I could find was haberdash with a “b”. Close enough.

I’m pretty sure gerbil skin top hats are considered a “small ware”.

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