I'd successfully avoided the greasy, toned, stuffed creature that is the male stripper for nearly 28 years. "You're going to The Slimy Sausage? *cough cough* I think I'm coming down with something," has served me well. My own bachelorette party may have included these beasts, but it was cancelled because I had pneumonia the week before my wedding and checked out of the hospital and went straight to the airport, then back into the hospital in Vegas to have a bunch of stitches put in my shoulder because of a Chicken Little carryon bag, and between all the IVs and antibiotics and oxygen tanks, well, greasy herpetic men bending me over a chair and "air thrusting" not so much on the menu. Anyhow, off track here, but I'm maid (matron sounds like I own thirty-seven cats, and yes, there is something wrong with that) of honor for my sister's wedding next month and even though I should have been the one planning the bachelorette party, some of her friends who didn't bring home a three year old 7 weeks ago handled it, and yes, there was a greasy stuffed stripper.

Just. Ick.

Aside from that blechyness, just sewing/order filling/crocheting /childrearing/ dogwrangling /chauffeuring. The Hub is gone, I'm all alone, today was the first full day by myself, and you know, Huck is the most adorable, charming child between 8 am and 1 pm. By 3 I'm checking for horns, and at 7 I gave myself a time out. Naptime not always an option, as he goes back to school tomorrow, and naptime pushes bedtime back to 10 pm. I had his kiester in bed and asleep after only 10 verses of "Goodnight Huckle" at 8:10, and by 9 the kitchen was cleanish, breakfast and bag lunch made, three loads of laundry in the works, and I still can't believe he ate six waffles for dinner.

Very. Sleepy.

And since when does the introduction, "This is my sister, she's a mommy!" translate to, " This is my sister! She'd just love to go back to your hotel room for random sex with you, stranger! And her tits are real!" I was far too felt up at the nightclub. Too old for sports agents at coaching conventions. And far too old for the Army boys with prosthetic limbs staying in the hotel room next door who decide to knock on our door pantsless and... at attention.

And people wonder why I like to stay home. When you've been a freak magnet for 20-odd years, you learn.