7 things I could resist

It’s a two-fer!  One:   Seven Quick Takes, hosted by the hostest with the mostest Post-its (get it?  In the picture.  What?), Jen Fulwiler of Conversion Diary (and, among other things, the Register blog).

Oh, so that’s one.  Two is that I am crapping things up at the Register today with a little Lenten Quiz:  JUST HOW HOLY ARE YOU?  Come find out! And see how long it takes before someone notices, and becomes offended that, there is no such person as the Venerable Scrupe!

So go see that, and I want to make sure I get a harumph out of all of you.  Then come back here and join me for:

SEVEN QUICK TAKES:  Seven things I could resist, actually

1.  Making wontons from scratch.  This is only a victory in that it shows that I have infinite capacity for feeling guilty (every time I open the freezer and the package of wonton wrappers falls out, and I have to tell them gently, “Not yet, not yet.”) over something that is entirely morally neutral.  Oh, does not making wontons make me feel guilty!  But that thing I said about that lady at Mass — well, I got over that pretty quick.

2.  Eating grapes impregnated with Nerds.  Although my five-year-old daughter is pushing me really, really hard.  It’s kind of like voting for Mitt Romney:  you don’t really have to try it, to imagine how awful it would be.

3.  Yelling, “YOU FORGOT YOUR PANTS!” at passing college girls.  You know the ones — sashaying along the sidewalk with their jaunty side ponytails (so boot-cut jeans, which flatter my hips, are out of style, but side ponytails had to make a comeback, eh? Eh???), their North Face jackets, their Uggs, and their . . . not-pants.  What are they called, riggings?  Bleggings?  Oh yeah, they’re called TIGHTS.  Not pants, girls.  Go back to your dorm and finish getting dressed.

4.  Getting [#4 has been edited, in keeping with the spirit of Lent] knocked up, for almost two years straight!

5.  Sending a follow-up email to the director of my children’s school, when it turned out she needed to use our bathroom.  I had rashly decided, you see, that no one would need to use the bathroom before we all went sledding together, and so I did not clean it, even though its degree of filth had long ago reached and overtaken the squalid stage.  This wasn’t a messy bathroom, or even a dirty bathroom.  I wouldn’t even call it filthy.  This was . . . a third world bathroom.  This was a Drudge headline bathroom.  This was a Lollapalooza level of revolting muck and outrageous stench, a putrid, feculent, blight on the face of all that is good and decent.  But I didn’t say a word!  Because what can you say?  “Well, now you know?”

Oh, so the email I resisted sending was going to start, “Thanks for coming sledding with us!  I wanted to reassure you about all the discarded medical gloves on the floor. . . ”

6.  Putting windshield washer fluid in the car all winter.   Is it safe to drive around with brown, opaque windshield?  No.  Is it the action of an adult to seek out the deepest puddles and barrel through them at top speed, in the hopes that the splash will clear my view a bit?  No.  Is it so hard to open up a bottle of windshield washer fluid and dump it in?  No.  Is it likely I will just keep putting it off anyway?  Extremely.

7.  Sitting down to find appropriate pictures for these quick takes, even though the right picture makes all the difference.  Well, here’s something I couldn’t resist:



  1. Holy smokes! Thanks for the link back to your marriage communication post. How do you tolerate trolls like that??? That would drive me bonkers.
    And you need to remind your husband that in addition to possibly getting you pregnant, it is HIS job to put windshield washer fluid in your vehicle. Women, in an emergency, can fill a vehicle with gas, but any other fluids are in man’s domain. Sheesh.

  2. I finally filled my windshield washer fluid myself, and it turns out the stupid thing is broke. But the rear windshield washer works so in a pinch I can drive everywhere in reverse.

  3. Thanks for the laughs! I also make my husband do all of the fluids for my car, and, since I live in NJ, the kind gas station attendant does the gas. So I don’t have to dirty my pretty little hands!

  4. You know how easily I could resist voting for Mitt Romney? Easily enough to write a check to John McCain following the Iowa and Wyoming caucuses in 2008. Oh, how many times I’ve wished I could have that money back. But Quick Take #2 (and accompanying fudge photo) makes me feel a lot better about that decision.

    Romney for Treasury Secretary? Sure. Romney for Proctologist General? I never thought about it before now, but why not? Romney for President? No sir, I don’t like it.

  5. Uhm. I’m not a professional or anything but I think there may be something pretty darn wrong with you. My suggestion is lots of pills. Take them at random until your blog posts start looking like normal blog posts.

    (The preceeding comment cannot be construed as medical advice so the commenter cannot be held liable. )

  6. “This was . . . a third world bathroom.”

    Why, you’ve just described my master bath. Fortunately there are not just one but two doors I can lock to keep people out.

  7. Whoa, the comments on your stab-you-in-the-eye post took a crazy turn! I think you might have a crazy magnet in your pants pocket, Simcha, because the crazies seem to be drawn irresistibly to your blog. (You know, skirt pockets never come with crazy magnets inside… 😉

    • Skirts that hit above the knee or are made of clingy knit fabric do.
      Or are too bright. Or adorned with attention-seeking patterns.
      Really, unless the skirt in question is like this:

      It’s probably got a crazy magnet in there.

      Because that getup is *totally* sane.

  8. Not getting knocked up for almost two years straight – yes! I am proud of that too. And as to number 6 – I laughed so hard. It’s so strange how we can convince ourselves it’s not worth it to do a little thing that really is sooo worth it to do.

  9. Last weekend, Jeff wanted to show me how to put coolant in the car. I reminded him that it would require me to open the hood which we have already established I am unable to do. Wow, I’m going on two years of being not knocked up as well (I forget so often our babies were born the same month and year). Yesterday Joseph asked me, “Mama, when another baby gonna be in your belly?” I told him talk to Daddy…

  10. I make all political decisions based on facial hair. I would vote for the candidate in picture number two on almost any issue. The candidate in picture number one has no facial hair, so he can’t be voted for, under pain of banishment and serious yoinking out of my own rather luxuriant foliage.

  11. OMGosh YES you have described the collegiate unifrom exactly ! I’m only on campus once a week, and whenever I drive along College Avenue I want to roll down the car window and yell “LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS!” They make me feel like such a curmudgeonly 26 year old.

    Good news though – I hear flare leg pants are coming back. Designers are getting sick of the skinny trend.

  12. Wiping the tears from my eyes, because I’m pretty sure I’ve got all the deep puddles in my stomping grounds marked. SO glad to not be alone in my windshield mire!

  13. So I’m lurking in your archives while I nurse my one-week-old third baby girl, and my 3 year old is sitting next to me because she just can’t stay away from the baby for more than 2 seconds. And she sees that engloved picture above and says “Turn it off! Turn it off!” Just thought you’d like to know.

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