There are things I do which I find quirky, but may be more normal than I think.

• I put important things that I don’t want stolen in my underwear drawer.  For instance, I just tucked my passport away next to my bras because somehow this makes perfect sense to me. Perhaps I am giving thieves more credit than they deserve.  In my heart I think they will be respectful enough to not rummage through my unmentionables while robbing me blind; thus protecting the most important things in my house.Maybe I should just get a safety deposit box…
• I think the organization of a woman’s spice cupboard and how clean behind her fridge is tells you exactly what kind of woman she is. My spice cupboard is jammed full of things that aren’t even spices.  Heck, I have a smoke detector in there!

How can you find anything in there?

But I have this spice rack…so does it mean I can pull it together when absolutely necessary?

Perhaps my spice redemption?!

My fridge appears to be just fine from a quick glance.

What a happy little fridge; complete with pictures from the nieces on it.

But upon closer inspection, I’ve really let myself go!

Oh. My. Gosh. I can't believe no one told me how far gone I was!

This is why I will pull the fridge and stove to clean behind before people come over instead of dusting.  Then when they use this litmus test to see if I am a good woman I will pass with flying colors and the dusty pictures and lamps will go without notice.  Right?

• I put peanut butter on almost anything.  Bananas, any sort of bread product, apples, ice cream, Nutella, a spoon, a hunk of chocolate, vegetables, you name it! Some days I find myself standing in front of the open refrigerator with a jar of peanut butter in one hand searching for something worthy to pair it with. If nothing can be found I resort to eating it off a spoon.

• One of my life goals is to be able to masterfully bake a soufflé.  I don’t know why but it seems to be one of those things that separates the girls from the women.  And you never know when a soufflé emergency should arise…if called upon in such an emergency, I would want to be able to save the day.

Am I the only one?  Please tell me it isn’t so!

She has failed me in every way.

Even after giving birth, she still remains muffin top free.  If she had a muffin top and was confident about it, all women everywhere would be liberated.

Angelina, use your power for good to liberate the everyday woman!!

My faith in Angelina to champion the everyday woman was so great that I wasn’t overly concerned about my muffin top.  After all, I love being fashionable and was prepared with my muffin top when it came to be the next big thing in haute couture.

To be ready for Angelina’s show of daring, I didn’t worry about my random consumption of M&Ms, Doritos, white bread, pastries, and candy.  After all, I didn’t want to get sick trying to get the muffin top back when it became fashionable to have one.

The time has never come.  After 4 years of hoping, I now realize that it’s never going to happen.

No matter how much I go to the gym or try to rid myself of the muffin top, it goes everywhere with me.  There are things women can do to hide the muffin top, such as wear ‘foundational undergarments’ that are akin to a straight jacket.  Unfortunately, I think it’s important to be able to breathe and sit down without looking like you’ve pulled every muscle in your back so I opted against wearing them.

While thinking about how to overcome my metabolism that is slower than a slug’s, I had an epiphany.  I completed a good old-fashioned Google search and found professional help.  Tomorrow is my first appointment for personal training with a man that ‘helps you look good naked’.  I chose him because he’s the closest thing I could find for ‘Muffin Top Slayer’.

So I may be dead after tomorrow afternoon, but if Angelina isn’t going to come through for me I have to change my tactic.

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.  SIGH.

Even though I am a woman I was never sure why we went in groups; so one day I broke the rule and went alone.

My best friend Nancy and I were out shopping at our favorite store looking for high-end jeans and designer shoes on clearance.  We grabbed a latte to sustain us during our intensive shopping and started combing the racks for fabulous deals.

Halfway through the jeans section my very efficient kidneys got to work on my partially finished latte. I looked up and Nancy was nowhere in sight.  Due to the conditioning of going to the bathroom as a group, I searched the perimeter of the store to see if she wanted to come along to the bathroom.  I couldn’t find her and my kidneys were hard at work.

I went to the bathroom alone.

Exiting the stall, I grabbed my latte and tried to unlatch the door.  It would not open.  I put the latte down and used both hands and all my might, but the door remained firmly locked.  I pushed, pounded, jiggled, and shook the door, yet I remained in the bathroom stall…all alone.

Bewildered as what to do next, I sat down and waited for an unsuspecting woman to use the stall without toilet paper.  I devised a plan that was dependent on the woman not checking the paper supply.

Women in Paperless Stall – Oh my!  There seems to be no toilet paper in here.
DL – Oh boy!  That’s not good!  Do you want me to pass you some toilet paper?
WiPS – Yes please.  That would be splendid.
DL – OK.  One condition though.
WiPS – Conditional toilet paper?
DL – Yes.  I am stuck in here and require a Phillips screwdriver to remove the door of the stall.  I will give you toilet paper if you promise to come back with the necessary tools to free me from this stall.
WiPS – Ummm…OK….

I waited patiently for 20 minutes, yet no one came.

I tried using a dime to remove the door from the stall to no avail.

I was reduced to yelling for help.

Still no one came.

My latte was finished as well as my patience.  I took matters into my own hands.  There were only 2 options of escape; over or under.  Taking into account my tendency to fall over and near death experiences, I chose under.  Taking a deep breath and an assessment of the public bathroom floor’s lack of cleanliness, I dropped to the ground, shoved my purse out ahead of me, and started the task of birthing myself out of the stall.

Halfway through my escape I heard the creak of the door open to reveal a very shocked woman looking down at me.

After 25 minutes of being locked in a public bathroom stall I merely continued emerging from my bathroom prison, stood up, and gathered as much dignity as possible while brushing about a week’s worth of bathroom grime off my chest.

My explanation of, “Umm…Hello…I was locked in…” didn’t help to wipe the look of complete confusion and amazement off the woman’s face.

I was so happy to be free that I just continued to brush off the grime that accumulated on my body during my escape, washed my hands, and went in search of an employee to let them know they were down one stall in the ladies room.

Now I know why women go to the bathroom in groups.  You never know when you need someone to watch your latte or go in search of power tools to free you from a bathroom stall.

I learned my lesson the hard way and haven’t gone alone since.