After school, Stryker dove into the grocery bag on the front seat, starving.
He retrieved this: "What is this snack? Kloh-r -eye-n free tame pones? Is this candy? A tamepone? Can I try one?"
Me: "That would be chlorine free tampons. The things women use when they have their period. To catch the blood."
That box catapulted from his hand, fire. He recoiled. Nearly bathed. Yes, he'll make a fine husband.
The Matron, not understanding her life was in danger, blithely drove across University Avenue today. And--someone ran a red light.
As in tires screeching, vehicles swerving, momentary mayhem as the wayward car aimed it's briskly paced self directly at the Matron's door. Instead of seeing her life flash before her, she saw the man on the corner gasp and drop his brief case, all horror.
When the wayward vehicle straightened itself and beat a hasty departure--missing the Matron by about one inch--she pulled over so that every neuron in her body could snap, crackle and pop before dissolving.
The totally hypothetical philosophical question of the day for all forty-something mothers of three who sometimes forget to Kegel and have given vaginal birth, three times, and occasionally endure the extremes of Bikram Yoga.
Is it okay to pee in the shower at the gym?