Faster Than a Speeding Handful of Peas!

Stronger than an enraged toddler clinging defensively to her toy! Able to maneuver 10 drop-off lines at school with ease! Bolder than any mountain of stained laundry! Changing diapers at the speed of light! And able to cook nutritious meals while performing an aerobic workout! Its.....SUPER MOM!

Whatever.

Someone accused me of being one of those the other day. I'd say that she was suffering from some serious perception problems. I know a few women that I would label "super moms." But you are gonna have to outrun me to stick that label on my back. And I can run pretty fast when I want to, y'all.

Not that there is anything wrong with being a super mom. I just don't happen to be one. What I am instead is a simplifier. I don't let things get too complicated. I don't carry other people's "junk" around with me all the time. I don't over schedule my life (or my children's lives) and I am slow to take on new commitments. Call me selfish if you will. I call myself sane.

Really, ladies, we should stop comparing ourselves to each other. But until that day arrives, rest assured that no superheroes reside at my house.

Red Dresses

A few million women went shopping for a new dress on Tuesday. Some of them bought blue dresses, but more of them went for the perfect shade of red.

In fact, the red dresses were so popular that they almost sold out! And people everywhere have been comparing notes and congratulating each other on what a great deal they managed to get on those gorgeous new threads.

There is only one problem. A good portion of those shoppers seemed to think that they bought a purple dress. And they are super excited about how that purple dress is going to change their life. They just know that they are going to look fabulous in it. And when the perfect ocassion presents itself, they are going to go looking through their closets for the purple dress, eager to show it off to the whole world.

But there won't be a purple dress. Just a bright red one.

"Where did this red dress come from?" they will wonder. "I could have sworn this dress was purple! I tried it on for size and everything-it was the most amazing shade of purple I have ever seen, just shy of being aubergine!"

But the store they bought the dress from doesn't accept returns. No refunds either. It was a final sale. And a whole heap of women are going to end up feeling pretty silly wearing a red dress with the new purple shoes they bought, in that perfect shade of aubergine.

Fried Pickles

Well who would have thought that a Southern gal could live to be thirty without tasting a fried pickle? I know that it stretches the imagination, but the first fried pickle I ever tasted was in a restaurant that featured such redneck fare as braised pork osso buco with orzo pasta, smoked bacon, roasted cauliflower and red peppers in a tomato-parmesan broth. Not the kind of place with peanut shells on the floor. (Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you.) And I was just shy of 30 when this momentous event occured.

Let me tell you, those suckers were tasty. And they came with a creamy ranch dip to boot. It doesn't get any eleganter than that. I'm pretty sure that you can't call yourself a Southerner until you've eaten a fried pickle, which is a crying shame, because hardly anyone eats them anymore. Much less actually takes the time to slice, bread and fry the things.

So anyway, I fully qualify now. I'm a real Southern Lady. Any day now I'm going to get a bad perm and start to feather my bangs. Oh, yeah, and carry a gun in the back of my truck.