not that you asked...

Although, I will miss the money. If we're being honest.

Maybe you heard, but last week I received notice that my Parents.com blog is kaput at the end of August. (Notified in a form email, from someone I'd never even HEARD from before, but that's a different, semi-bitter story.) I'm okay with it for various reasons, none of which I will go into here until my contract is officially up on the 31st. Getting paid for blogging about my personal life, without any restrictions or guidance from editors, was a pretty awesome deal, for the most part. In a way, it was the easiest job I ever had, but it was also one of the hardest. I'll get into that in more detail in September, because I think it's worth a post or two, especially if anyone out there is looking to land the same sort of gig. If I could do it all over again, there are some things I would have asked for upfront; there are some questions I wish I would have gotten answered before I got started. Maybe it will help someone else out. I'd never known anyone else who held a job like the one I did, so I didn't know what to expect or what not to.

For the last two years, I have tried to keep most of my rambling about parenting and anything related to my kids at the Parents site. Sometimes that left me with barely anything left to post about here, because being a stay-at-home mom doesn't leave a ton of time for interacting with anyone other than my kids and the dog and maybe, on a good day, a really nice person at the grocery store. So if you started reading this site in the last TWO YEARS, which is actually a very long time in Internet Land, you're probably used to reading content about my thighs or my hair or things that irk me on television. However, come September 1, THE KIDS ARE FAIR GAME AGAIN.

I mean, I'm not going to post about them three times a week or anything. And I'll still post about my thighs and my hair and what I watch on TV, but it will be nice to have my whole life documented here once more, including two of the most important parts of it.

Hope you're ready.

Let's gloss over the fact that despite my best intentions, my child now worships Dora

I took Asher to get his hair cut at the mall on Friday. Over the last year and a half, t's been our tradition to get it cut at the cheesy overpriced kids salon where he can watch Dora and I can be completely ignored by the stylist (I use the term “stylist” VERY LOOSELY HERE) when I say, “just a trim, please, I don't want it too short” because no matter what stylist we get, or what I tell her, IN WHATEVER LANGUAGE I USE, she makes him look like he just went through Army boot camp. And then she gives him a lollipop and tells him how handsome he is and I overtip her even though I'm completely dissatisfied with the result because she sits right there and takes the tip out of the register right under my nose which can be awkward if it's fifteen cents and then I take him to ride the little mall train as a reward for being so good.

So on Friday, we walked over to the train to get in line, and immediately the train driver started chatting us up. The train driver, just so you know, is easily in his early 40s, and although he seems to be a nice person, driving the train appears to be his full-time job. He takes this job very seriously; this is actually just an assumption on my part since he wears conductor coveralls and a hat even though the other train operators do not. He asked us a bunch of casual questions about Asher's haircut and his lollipop and then he said something about how he thought that the mall should put up a flat screen television in the train waiting area, so that the kids could watch cartoons or something while they wait.

People, we have been riding this train for EIGHTEEN MONTHS. I'd say... two or three times a month. On weekdays and on weekends, and I have never, EVER waited in line longer than five minutes. Do we really need a flat-screen television everywhere a kid might have to stand for longer than 30 seconds? Especially since, in this case, the thing they are waiting for is a frigging TRAIN RIDE? This is not a DENTAL EXTRACTION. I'm not sure we need to entertain children who are simply waiting in line for a few minutes before they CONTINUE TO BE ENTERTAINED. By a TRAIN RIDE. MY GOD, back when I was a child, there weren't televisions ANYWHERE in public and we had to ride in a SHOPPING CART for a good time, and no one was driving it wearing coveralls, LET ME TELL YOU. (Although my mother did own a gold lamé jumpsuit at one point, but as far as I know, she never wore it out in public.)

Anyway, so he goes on to say, “That's what we had at White Flint.” White Flint is another mall in the area. Where, apparently, he ALSO used to drive the train. In other words, this train-driving thing is just what he does. Which is fine! I swear, totally fine, except that I was just a little... caught off-guard by the fact that a seemingly intelligent and well-spoken man in his 40s is making a career out of driving children in malls around in an electric train.

AND THEN he went on to tell me that he thought that the big open space in the middle of the mall (where they house Santa and the Easter Bunny and a big glass Starbucks kiosk) could be put to much better use. Specifically, he visualizes more flat-screen TVs for cartoons (starting to get creeped out by all his “children watching cartoons” fantasies) and, this is a direct quote, “space where kids could run around and I don't know, a place for them to take naps or something, too!”

First of all, the place where kids can run around is called THE MALL PLAYGROUND and it is upstairs. Maybe he never goes upstairs, since the train only runs downstairs, but surely he has seen a mall directory? SURELY he knows there is a mall playground? And secondly, OMG WHOSE KID IS GOING TO TAKE A NAP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MALL SURELY THIS MAN DOES NOT HAVE CHILDREN OF HIS OWN. The man said this in all seriousness. I did not ask him exactly what he was thinking of: cots? mats? cubicles lined with bunk beds? some sort of armed guard to watch over the whole debacle because one wrong move, one kid falls out of bed, one child sleepwalks into the path of the electric train and someone will be suing the pants off whoever owns malls in the first place? IS THE TRAIN DRIVER CLINICALLY INSANE?

FYI, Some Other Equally Idiotic Ideas For Children At The Mall:

Finger painting in Banana Republic

Piñata smashing in Things Remembered

Sampling steaming hot caffeinated beverages at Caribou Coffee

Buying anything that shows your midriff if you are in elementary school

Buying anything that shows your midriff if you are in junior high

Buying anything that shows your midriff PERIOD, HAVE SOME DIGNITY

Going into Spencer's without a blindfold on

Riding the carousel immediately following lunch

It's Friday again!

One: There's this woman in our neighborhood who owns and trains German Shepherds. And I'm not talking sit or stay or shake hands. I mean training as in, I think maybe she is sending them to war. Why else would a dog need to be able to pull a TIRE the length of a GOLF COURSE? I thought that was weird enough, this woman living in the suburbs who was possibly training her dogs for combat, but then then this evening while walking Hambone, I saw her riding down the street on a CHARIOT that her dog was pulling. I'm not even sure I can call it a chariot; it looked a lot like an old-timey bicycle – the front wheel was big and the two back wheels were small and the dog was hooked up to it by a harness and I don't even know why I'm going on and on about it because it doesn't matter WHAT it looked like, because the fact of the matter is, she was riding a CHARIOT being pulled by a DOG and it was in full view of the general suburban public.

Two: So I've worn my bikini twice now. The first time was at the kiddie pool in our neighborhood. It was so not a big deal AT ALL; perhaps this is because everyone at the pool was either less than five years old or had birthed one or more of the people who were less than five years old and all of them were wearing bikinis, too. And out of the ten or so moms wearing bikinis, I'd say only one of them had a body I could have been envious of. And that doesn't mean my body was better than 90 percent of the women there, what it means was that I was so comfortable in my own skin that I didn't even bother sizing everyone else up and deciding whether I was better or worse off, which is so totally something I would have done four or five years ago. ANYWAY, then the second time, I forgot that my lower back basically hasn't been out in the open since 2004 and it got pretty crispy. I haven't gotten a bad sunburn in YEARS so I also had forgotten what it feels like to shower with a sunburn, and what it feels like is NOT VERY GOOD and also makes me wish I showered the wrong way.

Three: I figured since you wanted to see the Lion Cut, you'd want to see the sunburn. IMAGE NOT ENHANCED IN ANY WAY. Intelligence obviously not enhanced either.

Four: I should have clarified that I love books that are lengthy as long as they're GOOD books. Nothing makes me feel more horrible than starting a big, fat book and realizing that I'm either not going to like the story or the writing and then having to finish it. Which you are going to tell me is a CHOICE, because no one is holding a gun to my head and making me read The Pillars of the Earth, but I did, even though I really didn't want to, because if I start a book, I have to complete it. Have to. No excuses. Probably the reason it took me three months to finish that book was because I disliked it so much I relegated it to the bathroom, so I only picked it up when I was, well, you know, GOING, and that pretty much sums up the entire experience of reading The Pillars of the Earth as far as I'm concerned: kind of a crap experience. No offense to anyone who loved it. Unique snowflakes and all of that, ok?

Five: Someday, I am going to live in an RV. And travel the country. And visit old friends. And stay as long as I want wherever I want. And I hope it is before I need a motorized lift to get me and my wheelchair into the passenger seat.

Six: I spent Monday night with three hot ladies. The weirdest thing about bloggers getting together is that they have something to say about every topic that comes up in conversation. This probably doesn't surprise you, seeing as how you read this website, the one where I write about toilet paper and stupid people who buy houses and how I pooped on my husband. And literally two minutes after settling into our booth, BEFORE A SINGLE GLASS OF WINE, EVEN, we were already practically shouting over each other. It's some sort of weird Blogging Phenomenon – as a blogger, you're used to being able to tell your own hilarious stories UNINTERRUPTED and also AT YOUR LEISURE, and then suddenly, you're with all these other hilarious people who ALSO have hilarious stories but no recollection of how to take turns. It's all kinds of chaotic awesomeness, actually. Unless you're the people in the booth behind us. My apologies for how much you now know about my left nipple and that Amy picks fights with the hearing impaired. AND THAT METALIA HAD A DOOR-TO-DOOR PUFFY PAINT BUSINESS IN SEVENTH GRADE. Also let it be known that I am the only person left in the entire world without what these young whippersnappers are calling a “smart phone.” My phone is from 2004 and I have to push the 3 button three times before I can type an “F” and also it has a retractable antenna. SHUT UP, it's VINTAGE.

Seven: My favorite Asher-ism of the week:

Me: Asher, can Hambone drive?

Asher: No, no have hands!

Me: Oh! No hands! RIGHT! Well, what DOES he have? (here I was expecting to hear “feet”)

Asher: Butt, tail, eyes, face!

Ah. That he does, son. That he does.

It's Book Recommendation time again!

Every year we take a week-long beach vacation with my family. And every year around this time (with SIX ENTIRE WEEKS TO GO) I start getting antsy – not even as much for the actual beach as for the week preceding it. I love the anticipation and I love the preparations and the list-making and the battery-charging and I LOVE PACKING, and Dave is always pissed that I request that he get the suitcases down from the attic two weeks in advance so I can start rehearsing for the actual Packing Event, which usually takes place a day or two before we leave.

And every year I write a post where I take requests for good beach reads and everyone is really nice to tell me what they've been reading and what they want to read and then I read through each and every one of those suggestions and read the synopsis on Amazon and eventually figure out how to pare them down to five or six books but then I never seem to remember to tell you what I ended up buying or what I ended up liking or hating or maybe wanting to throw into the ocean to get waterlogged and sink to the bottom and become entangled in seaweed which is like, pretty much the worst thing ever, don't you think? GAH I hate seaweed. I especially hate it when it wraps itself around my ankle and I get all jumpy and start flailing about in the water like some sort of breaching whale. That's how bikini tops come off, people. With RECKLESS FLAILING.

Which reminds me of a story! (I swear I was not originally planning to tell this story, but now I've thought of it and I can't NOT tell it.) So, let me just come out and say that I was an Early Bloomer in regards to my Womanly Cycles. And when I was 12, I was not ready to use Tampons, as they were scary in two ways: 1) I was expected to be knowledgeable about my anatomy and 2) we'd had a Our Bodies talk in Girl Scouts and someone had demonstrated the absorbancy of a Super Tampon by PUTTING IT IN A GLASS OF WATER. For the record, tampons expand a heck of a lot more in a glass of water than they ever would in a PERSON but no one told us fifth-graders that, so I was genuinely afraid that if I used one, I'd never be able to get it back out. Note to all Girl Scout Leaders or also anyone who must give a Bodies Talk to Elementary School-Aged People: PLEASE REFRAIN FROM THIS PARTICULAR VISUAL AID. So I wore pads at the beach. Pads! At the BEACH. Into the water and everything. And this was at an age where I was very interested in meeting cute boys, so that's what my cousin and I spent our time doing: meeting cute boys at the beach. Except then we'd be swimming with those cute boys and suddenly a maxi pad would go floating by and everyone would scream and run out of the water and I went along with them because although I was hardly grossed out by my own maxi pad, I was most definitely embarrassed by it. This happened more times than I care to admit to you. But what else was I supposed to do? I SAW A TAMPON IN A GLASS OF WATER AND IT GREW TO THE SIZE OF A CANTELOUPE. I decided I was way more willing to lose my maxi pads to a rogue wave.

Anyway, this year I'm going to stop being such a selfish whiner and tell you what I've read recently before I start demanding you give to me first. I'm done being a Taker! I am going to GIVE. On the grounds that you don't hate me for what I'm about to say about Twilight.

Books I Have Recently Read

By Emily Cassee

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer

I hated Twilight. Here's the thing, I can see where all you people who loved it are coming from; I really can. The teenage angst, the thrill of young love, the whole bad boy phenomenon... except I don't really identify with it myself, and it didn't really take me back to my teenage years, either. So for me, there's that, and then there's also the very minor fact that you can't deny in any way, shape or form that it's about vampires. Which makes me just think, vampires? Really? I just am not a big fan of fantasy stuff, so I think that's the big wall I have up against Twilight. It's about VAMPIRES. I just don't do pasty-white, sorry. And the biting and the hunting for blood and the general creepy feeling. Needless to say, I cannot continue with the series. I will not attempt to rent the movie. I am done with vampires. (And this is someone who rolled her eyes at the idea of wizards and went on to love Harry Potter, so DON'T SAY I DIDN'T TRY.)

American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld

This book seems to get a lot of rave reviews. I liked it. I didn't love it. I thought the first two-thirds were way more interesting than the last, but I think that's because the last third is so much more emotionally complicated than the first two. And that's not necessarily a bad thing for a lot of people, and it usually isn't for me, so I don't know what the deal was. I just started to get a little less empathetic for the main character by the time I got to the end. Also, I think I would have enjoyed this book a lot more if I hadn't KNOWN that it was modeled after the life of Laura Bush. I mean, yes, I would have SUSPECTED, obviously. But the whole time I was reading it I was wondering, “Is this something the author totally made up or something that ACTUALLY HAPPENED to Laura Bush?” It distracted me to the point where I think I would have liked to read it first without knowing, and then read it again with the knowledge that it had been based on a real person. Of course, I can't do that now, and neither can you if you just read this entire paragraph. WHOOPS.

Peony In Love by Lisa See

Beautifully written and is an interesting insight into 17^th century China which originally sounded about as interesting as teenage vampires, but ended up being fantastic. Except for the one minor thing about how the story is DEPRESSING AS HELL. I loved the writing and I actually loved the story (and I loved her book “Snow Flower and the Secret Fan” which I highly HIGHLY recommend) but WOW was it a real downer. This is not a beach read; this is a dead-of-winter-comfort-yourself-with-baked-goods-or-possibly-Xanax read.

A Bump in the Road by Maureen Lipinski

So Maureen reads my blog! And she always left these hilarious comments and then when her book came out she sent me a copy and even if I knew she wouldn't read what I wrote here about her book I would still tell you that I loved it. THIS is a perfect beach read. My only complaint would be that it ended too soon. One of my considerations when it comes to picking a beach book is that I generally want it to be AS LONG AS POSSIBLE so that I can stretch out my enjoyment. I actually look at the page count if I'm browsing online for books. Anything under 250 just will not do. I don't know how long Maureen's book was, so I can't officially complain about length, but I can complain that it was so fun to read that I devoured it. Hence: Not long enough.

Testimony by Anita Shreve

Testimony is about a sexual incident at a prep school that ends up tearing apart the lives of those who were directly involved as well as those who weren't. Blah. It was boring and skimmable. And not only was it boring, it was totally inconsistent. It is told from the viewpoints of many, MANY of the book's characters, and some are done well. I mean, I never really ended up CARING about any of them (FAIL FAIL FAIL) but some of them seemed to really jive with the character's education level and manner of speaking. Others did not. I ask you, do you know of any teenage boy who would describe a 14-year-old girl as “lithe”? Like, more than once. I'm sorry, I don't care WHAT prep school you go to or WHAT college you hope to get into, no teenage boy I have ever or will likely ever meet uses the word “lithe” in everyday conversation. Also, I just didn't think the story was good or believable. I like believable. See above, re: vampires.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver

Brilliant; absolutely brilliant. Get it. Read it. Say, “I HAD NO IDEA!” and also, “AMAZING!” sixteen thousand times each chapter. Have your life changed. Or at least, think really hard about changing your life but wait until the book comes back from your mother-in-law so you can read it again and figure out exactly what you're going to do change-wise.

Certain Girls by Jennifer Weiner

Enjoyable, but not great. Mostly, I wanted to throttle the mother in the book, who has lengthy and rather irritating inner monologues concerning WHY her 13-year-old daughter isn't speaking to her and WHAT is going on in her daughter's life that is making her so distant all of a sudden and HOW is she going to get her to open up to her and WHY is it so hard to raise a teenager with values these days and after only three pages I wanted this ridiculous woman to stop trying to be her daughter's friend and be HER MOTHER instead. MY GOD, people, if you are a PARENT, then you can DEMAND INFORMATION FROM YOUR CHILDREN, and stop worrying about whether you're invading their privacy or making them uncomfortable. They're your CHILDREN and you can't be their doormat. I don't know if they ever really resolved that issue; there were lots of other things going on and all those were wrapped up nicely by the end of the book, but it bothers me that I don't think the mother ever REALLY got it.

Ok, now I've given. You're free to give back.

Another week where I should have posted more than seven quick takes because THESE AREN'T QUICK AT ALL

One: I ripped my pants on Tuesday. My FAVORITE capri pants – the pair I bought two years ago at my lowest weight and can only wear comfortably if I let them air dry because the dryer shrinks them just enough that I sport a plumber's crack if I sit down. I LOVED THOSE PANTS. And I would be way sadder about the fact that I can't wear them anymore except that I laughed so hard when they ripped that Asher started laughing too and I'm pretty sure he doesn't have the Real World Experience necessary to understand why pants ripping is funny in the first place. I laughed because God forbid my pants rip in a predictable, perhaps fixable location, like, oh, I don't know, A SEAM. No, mine ripped from my knee up to the waistband. Through the FABRIC, which was nowhere NEAR a seam, and which made me momentarily wonder whether I'd look in the mirror to find out I'd gained 300 pounds overnight or turned green and also into the Hulk.

Two: My husband is now getting over a case of the shingles. I thought they were spider bites; my family took that one step further and had him convinced that they weren't spider bites, but were instead the location a spider cleverly chose in which to deposit a couple hundred spider eggs for safe keeping. It was fun thinking about the eggs for a while; Dave and I discussed what the title of the TLC show we would be featured in would be called (“Dave and Emily Plus A MILLION” was the clear winner) and I enjoyed occasionally pretending that I could see them hatching RIGHT FREAKING NOW, somebody DO SOMETHING AAAIEEEEEE. But no, then he went to the doctor, and the doctor didn't even MENTION spider eggs as a possibility, even though shingles seemed kind of far-fetched, too, since Dave is in his 30s and most people who get shingles are over 60 and tearing open their social security checks with their false teeth. The doctor actually told him she'd only seen it in “young people” a couple of times. “Once I saw it in a guy in his 20s,” she told him kindly, in some last-ditch effort to make him feel like less of a total loser for getting shingles 30 years before his time. Unfortunately, this didn't make him feel much better about the situation. And then she gave him medicine even though it's probably not at all effective if you don't start them within 48 hours of contracting it and then the doctor told him to definitely stay away from people with compromised immune systems and babies. You know, BABIES. Oh, like, say THE ONE LIVING IN OUR HOUSE.

Three: I bought a dress the other day at Target. It is a size XL. It is a size XL because I bought it in the GIRLS section. Not the juniors, not the womens. GIRLS. And I'm not sure what is more bothersome – that I might run into an eight-year-old wearing the same thing, or that it fits perfectly in the chest area. Since when do eight-year-olds have boobs? Or maybe I mean WHEN DID MINE DISAPPEAR?

Four: I have made a Personal Vow not to Twitter about my daughter's (still rather poor but marginally improved-upon) napping habits anymore. For a while, it was like a good, easy way to vent that she'd only taken a 20-minute nap, but then it started to CONSUME me and it started to feel like each and every time she refused to sleep for what I considered an acceptable amount of time, I bitched about her on the Internet. And then to seal the deal, we hung out with out-of-town friends (a married couple) last week; he follows me on Twitter. And I was talking to his wife and she was saying how sometimes she asked her husband if anything interesting was happening with me and he said, “Well, her kid sure doesn't nap very well,” and I about DIED OF EMBARRASSMENT. I am WAY MORE INTERESTING AND WITTY THAN MY KID'S NAP SCHEDULE. My deep and sincere apologies for subjecting you to so much wailing and gnashing of teeth over something that no one else could possibly care about. It's fine to vent about crappy sleep on Twitter; what is not fine for me is that I was getting REALLY ANNOYING with it by posting something angry and angsty EVERY THIRTY SECONDS. (Sorry.)

Five: I can't stop watching A Baby Story. I thought the fascination would end after I had Lucy, but every afternoon when the kids go down for their naps I turn it on. Most of the time, it's just background noise, but yesterday it offered me this little gem:

Lady in labor who is dilated to a 10: “Something HURTS! Something is HURTING! Hurting SO BAD!”

Nurse looking concerned: “Ok, hold on, tell me where it hurts!?”

Lady in labor: “It HURTS! In the VAGINA! It HUUUUUUUURTS!”

Nurse: “...”

Nurse: “Uh, now it's time to push, so it's, uh, well, it's still going to hurt, ok?”

OMG LADY. YOU ARE IN LABOR. I don't know what else to say except that surely, SURELY you heard that having a baby was kind of painful? Painful enough that they invented this medicinal treatment where a person with a giant needle numbs the ENTIRE bottom two-thirds of your body so you can't feel ANYTHING? I mean, is that just not ringing a bell for you?

Six: Somehow, two kids came out of this body, one of them within the last seven months, and yet also somehow, I ended up with a bikini. Like, one I'm supposed to put on and go outside in, possibly in FRONT OF PEOPLE. Honestly, I normally wouldn't even entertain the thought of buying a bikini, but Old Navy sent me two swim bottoms instead of a complete tankini set, and I sent one set of bottoms back and demanded they send me the top I actually asked for, and then a month went by and nothing happened and then I sent an email because I am afraid of talking to customer service people, not because they're not wonderful people, more because I am a wuss who will never ask for what I actually deserve because I'm afraid I might hurt someone's feelings. Anyway, they refunded my money for the top because they don't have anymore of them in stock. Which means what I did have was just as useless as two bottoms, because then I had ONE bottom and absolutely zero hope of finding a top to match it and I reiterate that as far as I know, we are not headed to the French Riviera this summer – I NEED A TOP. Except then I went to the Old Navy store the other day and they had the bikini top that matched the bottom I can't get rid of and so I bought it because my mom told me to. It's a pretty cute bathing suit. Also, I tried it on twice and it was marginally cuter when I tried it on without a Chick-fil-A #5 combo meal in my stomach. (Making a mental note of that for afternoon pool sessions. Will fast before swimming.)

Seven: Kim left a comment on the post where I mentioned my cat and her ridiculous and necessary new haircut that said this: “My uncle is a vet and he told me once that if you shave a cat it can change their personality!” OMG, WE ARE WITNESSING THE PHENOMENON FIRST-HAND. Ever since the Lion Cut, the cat has been... different. Whereas pre-Lion Cut she stayed out of sight in my parents' finished basement, and spent her time sleeping under sofas until my dad came home, when she emerged to enjoy his company, now she roams freely throughout my parents' house, venturing upstairs into the kitchen and outside onto the deck and occasionally OUT THE PET DOOR. Today I was eating a sandwich on the couch and she STOOD UPON ME AND TRIED TO TAKE A BITE. This is the same cat who, again, pre-Lion Cut, wouldn't even come up the STAIRS, and now she's prancing around and demanding another can of food and eating the flowers on the kitchen table. I suspect that my parents are hoping that once the Lion Cut grows out, that she'll go back to her old hermity ways because she is driving them to the brink of certifiable insanity what with all the meowing and the underfooting and the jumping on their faces in the middle of the night, which I realize are all things that are to be expected from Regular Cats, but when your cat has been a Hermit Cat for 16 years, it can wear on you pretty quick. Anyway, all that to say Kim! You were right! I am now wondering if perhaps the Lion Cut would work on people with damaging self-esteem issues! (Although my gut instinct tells me it would just make things worse.)

All she had to do was read my LAST POST

I got an email today. I feel the pressing, urgent need to post it in its entirety.

Hi Emily,

I work with Charmin bathroom tissue and I wanted to send you an email about Charmin Ultra Soft's partnership with HGTV's designer Frank Fontana. I would love to send you a free kit that has a demo of how much you can save by using Charmin Ultra Soft instead of the leading value brand, as well as fun decorating tips from Frank Fontana of HGTV’s “Design on a Dime.”

Charmin Ultra Soft is designed with absorbent cushions that allow you to use less versus other leading brands. Charmin Ultra Soft is so soft and absorbent that you can use seven sheets of Charmin Ultra Soft versus 28 sheets of the leading value brand. Please let me know if you're interested; I would be happy to send you a kit! Enjoy your day!

Yours,

Virginia

You think I should write her back?

Hi Virginia,

I suppose it is no coincidence that you are offering me a chance to get better acquainted with two things I choose to write about on my website quite often: toilet paper and HGTV. I actually know EXACTLY who Frank Fontana is, Virginia – I even know the names of his two little design helper cronie-type people RIGHT OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD. He's kind of cute, don't you think? Well, okay, so he's not exactly my type, but he has really thick hair, and I definitely prefer thick hair to the alternative, in case you were wondering. (Were you wondering?) )(Don't answer that, Virginia.)

Anyway. It's not that I don't appreciate your offer, in fact, I might actually take you up on it because I cannot for the life of me figure out what toilet paper... I'm sorry, BATHROOM TISSUE and Frank Fontana could POSSIBLY have in common and I am dying to see if some of his decorating tips are toilet paper-based. The only thing I can come up with is festive streamers, but then again, I'm not the one with a television show, am I? Otherwise, I am not sure I understand the connection between Frank and Charmin except for the generalized penny-pinching concept. Are you with me on that? I mean, I know you're the PR person and you probably aren't supposed to admit it, but surely you have a BRAIN, Virginia, so I'm just going to assume that you see my point.

Here's the thing: I'm kind of... well, for lack of a better word, I'm BOYCOTTING Charmin. I refuse to buy it, and I have been for MONTHS. I've written about it MANY A TIME. And I'm encouraging everyone I know to do the same, until they do away with those animated bears as spokespeople. I don't know whose idea those bears were in the first place (I swear I'm not blaming YOU, Virginia, but MY GOD could you TRY to do something about that?) but I'm not sure if anyone out there finds them sweet and charming. I'm afraid most of us find them hideously unsanitary. Bears who crap in the woods and have the sense to wipe themselves with something other than the leading value brand could surely, SURELY find a stream or puddle in which to wash their hands, could they not? Also enough with the gratuitous shots of bears bending over. Animated or not, it's not a position I generally enjoy seeing.

I guess that's the long way of saying that the answer is yes; that I would like to get your little kit, but that I cannot guarantee IN THE LEAST that I will use it for good.

Yours,

Emily