Make your own metaphor.

I don't understand long-stemmed roses. I mean, some might find long stems aesthetically superior to short stems (perhaps this is akin to preferring long legs to short legs?) Personally, I couldn't care less about the length of the stems. Personally, I think we've decided that we like long stems because they're more expensive to produce and more expensive = better. Personally, I think we've convinced ourselves that if a man spends more money on our roses, he must love us (read: our long legs) more than any woman (or any woman's legs) in the vicinity. And therefore we can trust him with our legs and the rest. Or something like.

But can't we all agree that the prettiest part of any flower is the flower part? And it is a simple law of nature that cut flowers survive longer if their water supply is closer. That is why all long-stemmed roses that come my way are immediately amputated.* This formerly-long-stemmed rose was a half-open bud when I got it twelve days ago. TWELVE DAYS. Look how pretty it is on its stubby little stem...



* If you are determined to convince me that you love me more than Paris lusted loved Helen, skip the long-stemmed roses and go for the short-stemmed chocolate.

I'm a walker. I walk.

I was out walking the other night and encountered a little old lady shuffling down the sidewalk with her walker. We smiled at each other as we passed and she said, "I admire your bouncy walk!"

I didn't detect an ounce of envy in her face or her tone -- she really seemed just to enjoy watching my healthy chub tripping down the lane. Was my easy stride just one more sign of life for her? Like loving babies and daffodils, even though your own spring is long passed?

I really liked that lady. I want to be her when I grow up.

Game's still on, but....

....I just gotta say, this Mormons-on-reality-shows thing is getting stale. It all boils down to:

"Dude, get the camera! I just spotted a babyfaced virgin who sings/dances/cooks/survives/eatscockroaches like a heathen!"

It's Britney, circa 1998. And we all know how that ended.

[Shudder.]