Size Matters

Would you look at the size of my lemons!

Now, don't be jealous. We all can't have huge mutant lemons. Each one of these lemons weights well over a pound. That's a lot of lemonade! I think it's safe to say that I will never have a lemon juice shortage at my house.

I have another photo that shows my hand near the lemons so you can get a better idea of how big they are.

Now you may also notice that I am wearing a good-sized diamond ring on my finger. This is an area where size matters.

There are other areas where size really does not matter. A lot of men claim to be very attracted to women with large breasts, in fact, it's sort of a fixation in America. In actuality, a lot of men prefer smaller breasted women. I saw a fantastically gorgeous woman at the Gay Freedom Parade in San Francisco last year who had one breast. She wore a black leather contraption that exposed her one breast but covered the area of the missing breast.

There was not a straight man in the crowd who didn't look at her with interest. The woman looked like a warrior princess who had perhaps lopped off her own breast to improve her archery skills. She was gorgeous.

Another area that people talk and joke about is penis size. More is considered better, but I really don't think most women actually care one way or the other.

Having a big penis does not make a man good in bed. As long as he has enough to get the job done, it's just fine. In fact, I've turned down a club or two in my life and I have never regretted doing so. There was really no reason to stretch the boundaries.

I do like big lemons and big diamonds though.

Bad Hair Days

I don't know of much that disgusts as much as a bad hair day.

I can put on the cutest clothing in the whole wide world, step into the most fantastic stilettos anyone has ever seen, and spray on the Coco. I'm still going to look like shit.

Now people who see this photo are maybe going to say, "...just comb it and it'll be fine." Uh, no, it won't be fine. I have combed it. I have brushed it. I have put goop on it. I have put a hat over it. There is nothing fine about it.

The hair itself has it's moods and today is surly. It doesn't matter what I do to it, I will not be able to open the front door even to get that check from Publisher's Clearing House. My hair is not too clean or too dirty either. It just woke up this way.

On this day, my husband will come through the door after work and say "Hi Honey! You look pretty!" Is it any wonder that women stab their husbands? Is there any wonder that women sometimes hate their husbands? I think not.

Even my dogs are looking at me with a "What the F is wrong with your hair?" expression. Unconditional love? Not really, the little bastards.

I had every intention of going to the store today. I need a couple of important things and the store is one block away from my house. I took a look in the mirror and decided nothing is important enough to show off this hair to the public at large.

I hope this gets better sometime this week.