“Liar, liar, pants on…they make your butt look great, Honey.”

Apparently, in any conversation lasting 10 minutes, the average person will lie three times. That’s according to renowned psychologist Paul Ekman. I’m not going to lie: when I first heard this statistic I thought to myself, “Well, I don’t lie that often.” But, maybe I do. Read on.

Here’s my second non-lie: I haven’t actually read any of his work, so I have no idea what Ekman considers a lie to be. My Merriam-Webster dictionary defines a lie as “to make an untrue statement with intent to deceive”. Ouch. The second definition: “to create a false or misleading impression”. Not quite as harsh, but hardly flattering. “To lie” has such a negative connotation; it’s something ugly and hurtful. But what if the liar creates a “misleading impression” in order to spare a friend some hurt feelings? Or if a poor, beleaguered husband gives an “untrue statement” to bolster his wife’s self-image (see title)? Lies? Yes, technically. Necessary for the ongoing good of mankind? I think so. True, not all “misleading impressions” are created for the altruistic purpose of being nice to others. Most of the time they’re for covering our own butts. But I’m not here to judge. Whether right or wrong, we “average persons” have a tendency toward wanting to walk the smooth road, and sometimes it takes three lies every ten minutes to do it. And that’s no lie.

Clogged Sewer Lines Stink

Literally. And figuratively. Keep reading.

Roto-Rooter is outside my house right now, doing who-wants-to-know-what to the sewer line. I live in a mobile home park, so everybody’s business is connected: water, electricity, sewer, you get the picture. And therefore, I usually have no control over my own utilities when something needs to be fixed. So imagine my joy when, not two minutes after putting my son down for his one and only must happen or life will be hellish for the rest of the day midday nap, the Roto-Rooter guys pull up and stick a hose into my sewer line, and proceed to do that loud, rumbly voodoo that they do precisely three feet from the window of my son’s room. Needless to say, he’s not napping right now. Sigh.

My brother was supposed to visit my son yesterday; they see each other maybe once a month. But then we got the call that he couldn’t make it. Why, you ask? Because earlier that morning he was having the pipes in his house snaked when the downstairs pipes blew. Stuff everywhere. And where in the house was my brother when this loveliness occurred? I don’t really need to answer that, do I? Needless to say, my son will not get to see his uncle this month. Take deep breath and sigh.

So here’s what you can learn from today’s post: don’t be home while your sewage pipes are getting worked on. There’s too great a risk that your day will end up swirling somewhere down the drain.

High-Rise Jeans Bad, High-Rise Panties Good

Admit it. At one time or another we’ve all snickered at that mom at the park with her three rugrats and high-rise, butt-the-size-of-Texas Mom Jeans. We’ve thought to ourselves, “Does she seriously think that looks good?” Or, “Guess that woman doesn’t own a mirror.” But that was when we were living in our smug BC ignorance. Before Children, and the ever-inevitable baby bulge that cannot be conquered, no matter how many sit ups we huff and puff through. So why does that woman wear high-rise jeans? Because anything lower will result in a matinee playing of The Muffin Top That Would Not Die.

High-rise jeans may make the belly pooch look bigger than life, but they also contain the rolls, and hide the horror of those stretch marks from innocent eyes. Mid and low-rise jeans are, at least in my opinion, more comfortable, and certainly more fashionable, but unless you’re wearing a tunic-length top, you’re flirting with disaster. Don’t raise those arms too high. Don’t bend down too low. You don’t want us to see that, do you?

So what’s a girl to do? One possible solution to those AC body woes can be found here. Genius, I say! Panties that cover the stretch marks and backside-business, and locks and loads the muffin dough. “But they’re PANTIES!”, you cry. “Everybody will snicker at me for showing my panties!” “Eh,” I shrug. “Everybody’s a critic.”