Waste is a big deal for me, which is why the garage is making me crazy. The real culprit here is hubby’s packrat habits. There are things buried in boxes and totes, tucked up into shelving, that he’s forgotten he ever had. Stuff he just knew he’s need at some point in the future, so put it away twenty years ago for safe keeping.

I’m not entirely innocent in this, as I’ve stood with him in the air tools section of the local big box stores and nodded along when he professed his undying devotion to this pneumatic drill or that ratchet. I’m complicit. [sigh] And I’d have no problem with all the stuff if he used it…

Go Wordless!

…that I’m not dead yet! But I am a dirty old woman.

A wind mitigation inspector came to the house today. No older than thirty, he was the kind of cute that stems in part from a wonderful personality. Tall, sweet. Brown eyes I could drown in. Two dogs at home, he and Bree were immediately the best of friends.

We hit it off and spoke of many things, including insurance. I licked my lips a lot and pictured running off with him for a few days.

Some days it sucks to be old.

Did you ever feel like the stars had aligned to a single purpose one day but that you willingly cast your lot with the mean spirited? How do we know when a true opportunity has been placed in our path… or are there opportunities every day that we don’t see?

Yesterday I took a $5 coupon to Publix. The cashier forgot to subtract it from the total bill, so she simply gave it to me in cash. That in itself felt odd, since I don’t carry cash. I figure if I get into a spot that my bank card and American Express can’t get me out of… well, then I’m probably done for, anyway.

So I stuffed the $5 bill into my pocket and left.

In order to leave Publix’s lot, I pulled up into the line of cars at the traffic light… and saw a man with a small sign. He looked horrible and was wearing obviously cast off clothing. Sporting longish, dirty, graying hair and beard, his sign said something about being a homeless Vietnam vet.

Thing is, I never carry money, but I had FIVE dollars. Thing is, there’s never been a homeless person asking for money in that spot in my six year history here. Thing is, I strongly felt that I should give him the money. It hit me like a lead weight to the solar plexus.

But I didn’t. Too many years of caring for the homeless close to home. Too many scams, too many secrets revealed.

So why am I obsessing about it now? Because I still think I should have given him the money. If I go back, he won’t be there. My opportunity is gone. It doesn’t matter whether or not he was ‘for real’. All that matters is the fact that I ignored my instincts in favor of a more sensible, realistic approach.

Maybe that was the point. The post encounter angst? I’m rationalizing again, aren’t I? Damn.

Or ‘Orgasm Jab’. Would you trust the doctor to get it right?

Caroline became the first British woman to have the ‘G-shot’, also known as the ‘orgasm jab’ - an £800 non-surgical treatment that enhances a woman’s sexual experience by boosting the G-spot, the ultra-sensitive area of tissue that can hold the key to happy love-making.

Rather like lip-plumping jabs, the treatment involves injecting collagen straight into the G-spot.

This not only enhances its sensitivity, but increases the width of the area to the size of a 10 pence piece.

It also raises the G-spot a quarter of an inch in height, making it much easier to find. And, as Caroline can testify, the results are tremendous. ‘I have quite literally never experienced anything quite like it,’ she says. ‘I had constant multiple orgasms which went on for hours’.

I remember when the G-spot, no matter what Cosmo told us, was considered pure myth, so it’s nice to learn that modern medicine is fully caught up with woman’s anatomy.

Would I do it? Read the last paragraph again.