Today

The Princess regrets that today's blog post will not appear, at least not today, due to unforeseen illness. If it had been foreseen, of course, something might have been done to prevent it, but what's done is done. And this blog is done for today.

An entrepreneurial idea

We are not pet people. Basically we are too lazy and selfish to have pets. If someone would only invent, say, a dog that required very little upkeep, could clean up all its hair, poop, etc. -- or better yet, refrain from engaging in such activities altogether -- and manage its own exercise and social schedule, THEN we might think about getting a pet. This pet would pretty much resemble a vacuum cleaner, but with fur.

We had, in fact, been holding out for the day when someone would invent an Astro, the robot dog on The Jetsons. I have always been bitterly disappointed that our world, so far, does not remotely resemble the world of the Jetsons. I used to think, when I watched that show, that that's how life would be when I grew up. Everyone would be whizzing through the air in cute little airships. A robot maid would clean and make your bed for you. A robot dog would take care of itself and clean up after itself (or the maid would do it).

But if things keep going the way they are, with actual, non-robot pets being so pampered, we may not have to wait for an Astro to get the kind of pet we want: no maintenance, all fun.

I say this because in addition to professional dog walkers, there are now people who will, for a fee, come to your yard and scoop up your pet's, um, organic deposits. One such individual I have heard about recently is known as Miss Poop, no doubt so named because it is more catchy than, say, Miss Organic Deposit.

We see a great deal of promise in this development. All we need are a few more pet-minded entrepreneurs, and all our objections to owning a pet will disappear. We can outsource everything.

"It doesn't even have to live here," Joe suggested. "Someone else would keep our pet at their house, and we could call up every once in while and say, 'Hello, Mrs. Hoover-Smith, we'd like to come over and see Rusty for a few minutes...no, no need to bring him over here. We won't be long."

From this idea we progressed to the thought of a boarding school for pets, which would provide us the warm, fuzzy feelings of being pet owners without any of the daily responsibility. Our pet would stay at school most of the time, and the staff would send occasional updates on its progress and emotional development ("He's a great favorite with the girls, and is beginning to show some promise in swing dance"). These notes would be personalized with a wet paw and signed Love, Rusty.

When our pet came home on vacation, we would keep it busy with camps, doggy play dates, trips to the doggy spa (with a special reserved time in the therapeutic pool) -- all arranged and taken care of by a Pet Social Manager -- and we would hardly be inconvenienced at all. During one of these school holidays, we would have our annual Christmas photo taken, because the cuteness factor of this photo would be much enhanced with a pet.

So, if anyone is thinking about starting a pet boarding school, please let us know. In the meantime, we'll watch some reruns of The Jetsons.

Stinkbugging while driving

Here in Maryland it is now against the law to text while driving. While I applaud our legislators for taking this important step toward our communal safety, I would like to point out that texting is not nearly as dangerous as another activity that I personally, though unwillingly, have been engaging in while driving lately: stinkbugging, or chasing bugs around one's car.

My car has somehow become a gathering place, an insect taxi, for indigent bugs. These include stinkbugs, which are large beetle-type bugs clad in bullet-proof armor. Although they look lumberous, they can move surprisingly fast, especially when you are trying to get them to go one way, such as out the window of the car, and they are determined to go another way, such as under your seat.

I never discover these bugs when I am on a quiet, two-lane road, where I could safely pull over and use my female skills of persuasion -- which consist chiefly of a considerable amount of screaming -- to get them to leave my car. No, it is not until I am on the highway, in the middle lane of 18 lanes of traffic zooming along at speeds dangerously close to the speed of the earth's rotation, that a bug suddenly appears.

I fully expect to be on the radio traffic report some night, as the news chopper spots my CRV driving in a haphazard manner on the highway: "Dan, we're not sure what the problem is with this car, but maybe we can zoom in a bit...yes, Dan, we can see the problem now -- there's a large stinkbug on the SEEK button of the dashboard, and the driver appears to be trying to convince it to leave through the nearest window. The stinkbug is now sticking its tongue out at the driver. Whoops, the car just veered off into a ditch...now the driver is out of the car, running around and screaming, but from what we can tell the bug is still inside, trying to figure out how to turn the radio to FM."

My latest encounter involved several miles of alternately paying attention to the road and tracking a stinkbug, which was curiously exploring the interior of the car, including the back seat, where I lost it. I convinced myself that it was reading a map in the pocket of the passenger seat, far from my own seat. When I finally stopped at the drug store I conducted a thorough search for it, much to the interest of the owner of the car parked next to me, who was prevented from getting into his car by the fact that all four of my doors were open. I finally discovered the stinkbug on the window, but had a difficult time convincing him to take the chance at freedom I was offering. Eventually he was persuaded to leave quietly, and I promised I would not press charges.

I went into the drug store and was looking at the shampoo when out of the corner of my eye I saw the stinkbug crawl over my shoulder. Although no one would describe me as a great dancer, I invented some very unique moves right there in Rite Aid. At some point the stinkbug was ejected onto the floor. I left him there in Aisle 7, looking from the detangler to the volumizer, trying to decide which would make him more attractive to the ladies.

So I agree with our lawmakers that driving has become more dangerous with all the distractions out there. I would appreciate, therefore, if they could maybe pass a law outlawing bugs from commuting. At least during rush hour.

What your sneeze says about you

In the last blog post we looked at the fascinating subject of sneezes, learning that sneezes can be classified into a few easily recognizable categories, except my mother's, which as far as I know is entirely unique ("Hur-RAH!").

Sneezes have been studied quite extensively, mainly because the allergy medication manufacturers have a whole bunch of money they don't know what to do with. This is because those of us with allergies, in order to stay well-drugged with their products, give them a significant portion of our income.

Thanks to all these studies, and the sneeze experts who conduct them, we know a lot about sneezes, such as that the word sneeze is a cool word. So today, using wholly scientific, analytic methods, we will attempt to explain different personalities based on the classification of sneezes we learned about last time.

First, the Chihuahua Sneeze. This is a short, dainty, rapid sneeze that is followed by at least 17 others exactly the same. Chihuahua Sneezers, though generally considered polite and apologetic, may actually exhibit passive-aggressive tendencies. They want attention, and if they don't get it by sneezing daintily several times in a row, they may be forced to take more drastic measures, such as nipping at other people's heels.

The Cheer Sneezer is more difficult to analyze, mainly because my mother is the only known Cheer Sneezer. I suspect that the uniqueness of her sneeze has something to do with having five children spread out over 20 years, and it is a wonder she does not exhibit other, even more unique personality characteristics.

Noah Sneezers exhibit great empathy for others. This can be seen in the fact that their sneezes always come in twos, as if the Noah Sneezers are anxious that a sneeze not be alone, and that it has someone to keep it company. Noah Sneezers are also known for great physical feats and for perseverance in the face of great odds, although they do tend to get a little apprehensive when they hear thunder.

And finally, we have the Big Bang Sneezers, who get their sneezes over with in one violent, dramatic explosion. These action-driven individuals simply do not have the time for multiple little Chihuahua Sneezes, or even for two Noah Sneezes. They are too busy trying to solve the world's puzzles and mysteries, such as why anyone would want to study sneezing in the first place.

And thus ends our brief but wholly scientific analysis of sneezing. If any of you disagrees with our analysis of your particular personality, and you think another personality more accurately describes you, well, you might think about changing the way you sneeze.

Hur-RAH!

This wholly scientific analysis has been supported by the makers of Sleepadryl, Allegro, Clarifin, and Zzzzrtec, none of which, unfortunately, has paid us any actual money.

And God bless you

According to sneeze researchers -- why didn't my guidance counselors ever tell me I could be a sneeze researcher? -- there are several different types of sneezes. There is the loud sneeze; the subdued sneeze; the smothered sneeze; and the no-nonsense sneeze, which is gotten out of the way quickly so the individual can get on to more important things, although sneeze researchers do not suggest what these important things may be.

To these venerable findings I would like to add my own observations of sneezes, based on the small sample of sneezes with which I am most familiar:

1. The Chihuahua Sneeze. The Chihuahua Sneeze is a dainty little exhalation, pitched several times higher than the individual's normal speaking voice. It is short and quick, as if there is not enough air capacity to emit a full-size sneeze. Those who exhibit the Chihuahua Sneeze are satisfied with no fewer than 18 sneezes in a row, although some have been observed to sneeze up to 56 times at once, after which the exhausted individual keels over with all four limbs in the air. Most likely to be exhibited by girls under 7, ladies over 79, and my sister.

2. The Cheer Sneeze. Although most sneezes include some variation of the word "achoo" (which means "incoming germs!"), the Cheer Sneeze is notably different. The word used in a Cheer Sneeze more closely resembles the word "Hurrah," with the emphasis on the last syllable: "Hur-RAH!" Most likely to be exhibited by my mother, although she vehemently denies that she says anything like "Hur-RAH!" when she sneezes.

3. The Noah Sneeze. In contrast to the Chihuahua Sneeze, which is actually 18-56 sneezes at once, we have the Noah Sneeze. The Noah Sneeze may be emitted at any volume, but the defining feature is that they invariably come in twos. No more, no less. If you are familiar with the Noah Sneeze you know that there is no point in blessing the individual after the first sneeze, because inevitably it will be followed by a second, and you will have to repeat your blessing, which cancels out the first one. The Gallant Hero is a Noah Sneezer.

4. The Big Bang Sneeze. The Big Bang Sneeze is the most dramatic sneeze. This sneeze is emitted in one violent breath, with such force as to take all the individual's cranial particles with it. The sound of this sneeze is frequently elongated: "Ah-CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" A variant of the Big Bang Sneeze is the Prolonged Big Bang Sneeze, in which the sneeze is preceded by an extensive wind-up phase, during which there is some doubt that the individual will ever get to the actual sneeze: "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The Big Bang Sneeze carries such force that some scientists, not entirely satisfied with the Big Bang theory of the world's creation but also unwilling to believe that God spoke the world into being, have hit upon the Big Bang Sneeze as a compromise: God sneezed, and there we were. A little wet, perhaps, but there we were. Although I myself adhere to the speaking explanation of creation, I do exhibit a Big Bang Sneeze.

There are fascinating suggestions as to what a sneeze says about the individual exhibiting it. In the next blog post we will explore this subject more closely, not so much because we think we can learn anything from it, but mostly so we can make fun of people we know.

Whose hair is it, anyway?

Joe is lucky when it comes to getting his hair cut, because his haircut has to be approved by only one person: me. I, on the other hand, have to submit plans for approval of my haircut, well in advance of the appointment, to three people: Joe. Myself. The stylist.

Due to one unfortunate mishap in the salon a few years ago, Joe is now petrified every time I say that I am going to get my hair cut.

"So that stylist cut it a little short that one time," I said when I announced recently that I was going to the salon. "I don't go to her anymore anyway."

"A little short? You didn't have any hair left."

"It'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

"Should I send a note to the stylist?" he asked anxiously. "Leave my wife's hair ALONE."

I assured him a note was not necessary.

"Or picket outside the place maybe?"

"I'm sure I saw a sign in the window that says "No Picketing. Especially Husbands."

He tried one last time to persuade me not to go. "Why do you need to get it cut? Your hair looks really good today."

"Of course it looks good today," I said. "It always looks good the day I'm scheduled to get it cut. It knows when it's time. But if I don't go, tomorrow it will be back to its usual limp, uncooperative self."

I finally made it out the door, having been forced to agree that I would administer an oath to the stylist in which she would promise to take off an imperceptible amount of hair, and as each strand of hair was cut I would inspect it and measure it with a ruler.

When I had finished explaining Joe's reservations to my stylist, and she had laughed and outlined her own plans for my hair, and I had nixed those plans and repeated the "not too short" requirement, and she had modified her plans, and I had nixed those plans, she looked at me thoughtfully.

"Will he really notice that it's shorter?" she finally asked.

"Well, he knows I was coming here, and he knows it wasn't to pick up toothpaste."

"You're lucky," she said. "My husband wouldn't notice anything different if I walked around the house naked."

I assured her I thought he would notice that.

She proceeded to take a minuscule amount of hair off, and everyone seemed moderately happy with the result. Joe. Me. The stylist.

But the one entity happiest with my hair that day was my hair itself, because no matter what plans any of us make for it, or how I get it cut, it does whatever it wants anyway.

War zone

I was fortunate to not grow up in one of those families where mealtime resembled a war zone, with individuals having to be quick-witted and quick-handed if they wanted to get any food. Since getting married, however, this situation has changed dramatically.

Not that we fight over our food. We are too refined for that. No, Joe brilliantly deploys the Stealth Food Attack method, wherein the last portion of some food or snack -- generally containing chocolate ingredients -- that I have been saving, and looking forward to savoring, mysteriously disappears.

This circumstance has forced me to resort to Food Camouflage. Since anything in plain sight will likely be stolen by the other side, I secretly hide whatever it is I want to protect in the back of the refrigerator. Bars of gold could be stashed back there, and they would never be discovered. The only things that exist for Joe are in the very front row of the refrigerator. Many a treasured food item has been saved in this manner.

But it is not always possible to hide things. Some must be stored in plain sight -- the Danger Zone -- with the knowledge that at any moment, Stealth Man may come and whisk them away.

Last night I was anticipating consuming the last of the Black Bean Tamale Pie for dinner while Joe went to class. My food radar immediately went off when I opened the refrigerator to put something else away. There, where my Black Bean Tamale Pie should have been, was a big hole. Stealth Man strikes again!

Stealth Man is very, very lucky he is not here right now, I thought. His class had saved him from great bodily harm.

But I confronted him when he came home. "I thought we had an agreement," I said, "wherein you ask me if I want something before taking the last of it."

"Well, see, I did have that conversation with you," he said. "In my head. I imagined myself asking you if I could have it, and I imagined you saying yes."

I told him next time to imagine me standing guard in front of my food with a heavy metal object. This is, after all, war.