I went to Jodi Picoult's booksigning tonight. I would have had a lot more fun if all of Wellesley didn't come along with me. I sat behind a row of forty-somethings in denial about the last two decades passing and who had enough hairspray between them that had I decided to lick their heads and throw them at the ceiling, they'd still be there two and a half hours later. After listening to their incessant mindless Oscar-like commentary on every person unfortunate to walk through the doors after them, I actually felt myself slipping into my old high school alter ego and I only caught myself after sticking my gum on the head in front of me. Just kidding.

I waited 45 minutes in line after the reading to get Jodi's autograph. Last time I went to one of her readings, my little Oscar was whining so Jodi called us up front and talked to us and wrote a nice little note but today since all the damn stepford wives were there sucking the life force out of the air, it was pretty much assembly line style. There was a reception afterwards, but I didn't stay for that.

Doggie's foot is almost healed. Thank you all for your concern. Now I shall go clean the kitchen. No matter how I leave the kitchen, when I come home it looks as if Delta and the girls have invited the Iron Chef's over and then let them go home without cleaning up. Sometimes that annoys me, but I just remind myself that I am OBVIOUSLY the only licensed kitchen operator in the house.