Space invaders

The guys are using my bathroom. Up until now, the French Country thing I've got going on in there has been an effective repellent, but they seem to have developed a resistance to it. This is not good.

It was little things at first; they'd sneak in to use the mirror when the other bathroom was occupied. Fast, furtive little forays I could live with. Then it was the quick pee -- and they did not aim. Now they're parking their keesters and taking showers in there. They're leaving motor oil on the cream-colored towels and leaving the towels on the floor. There are whiskers in the sink. This means war. I hope I don't have to go all the way to froufrou. But I've got lace, and I'm not afraid to use it.

A girl's best friend

I want diamonds. Big ones, and lots of little ones too. Maybe an emerald or two, while we're at it. This is another new thing for me. I've never been big on jewelry, and I don't often wear what little I have. I have friends who flaunt their flash, but really ... it seems a bit much for grocery shopping and the PTA. Still. For reasons I can't define, I wish I had a spectacular piece or two. Maybe it's the leftover cheap chocolate and wilted carnations from Valentine's Day talking. Maybe I've flipped past the home shopping network once too often. (What exactly IS "Diamonique" anyway?) Maybe I've just flipped, period.

No point here. Just sharing.