I'm told not everyone will be able to relate to my column in this month's issue of Her magazine. If you're among them, you should count yourself lucky and buy a new lipstick to celebrate. Especially you gentlemen. That way I can identify and congratulate you.
I should note that the comment in my column about my parents coming to visit has less to do with them (they are lovely people) and more to do with the fact that every vehicle and appliance we own breaks down the minute they cross the threshold of our home. There's just something about my mother standing in my driveway clutching her suitcase in one hand and the broken-off handle of my minivan in the other that makes my lips BURST WITH PRIDE.
While we're on the subject of Her magazine, I have to admit, I don't always understand the way women think. And by "don't always" I mean "hardly ever". And by "hardly ever" I mean "WOMEN ARE INSANE." So! From time to time I like to walk among the people, and pay a little visit the Her Confession booth. It helps me keep my finger on the pulse, and see what's really on women's minds.
What kills me, though, is that I can't RESPOND to the confessions.
Take this little gem, for example:
I should note that the comment in my column about my parents coming to visit has less to do with them (they are lovely people) and more to do with the fact that every vehicle and appliance we own breaks down the minute they cross the threshold of our home. There's just something about my mother standing in my driveway clutching her suitcase in one hand and the broken-off handle of my minivan in the other that makes my lips BURST WITH PRIDE.
While we're on the subject of Her magazine, I have to admit, I don't always understand the way women think. And by "don't always" I mean "hardly ever". And by "hardly ever" I mean "WOMEN ARE INSANE." So! From time to time I like to walk among the people, and pay a little visit the Her Confession booth. It helps me keep my finger on the pulse, and see what's really on women's minds.
What kills me, though, is that I can't RESPOND to the confessions.
Take this little gem, for example:
You don't have the COURAGE?
Honey. You don't need courage. You need a doctor. Possibly two doctors. One for your downstairs and one for your upstairs, to help steer your brain in the direction of the POINT, which is NOT that your coworkers can't locate the source of the odor, but rather: you have an ODOR!
A TERRIBLE ODOR!
GET RID OF THE ODOR!
Jeez.
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