Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Read more Katy at...
LateBoomer.net
Most Recent Posts
- Stockbroker And Broker…..
- Not For The Faint Of Heart
- New Math
- International House Of…..Watch Out!
- Have Yourself A Merry Little Colonoscopy!
- Spell Check
- You Are Not Alone
- Don’t Know Much About The Big Three
- Why, Oh Why Didn’t I Take Home Ec?
- Really, Really Fun While It Lasts!
- In Defense Of Good Old-Fashioned Books
- Things I’ve Said That I’m Happy Someone Else Didn’t Say First, One In An Ongoing Series Of Several
- Do Depression Meds Work For This?
- The T-Shirt Off Our Backs
- For The Fallible Record
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
Long Time, No Blog
I sure have missed all you fallible readers, but it’s my own fault, isn’t it? If I would just get my act together and BLOG, things would be different....
The truth is that I haven’t felt overly well lately, and darned if I’m not starting to sound like my husband! He’s the one who----when he’s practically a dead man walking with back pain or a migraine---reports his condition to me as “not perfect.”
In case you EVER wondered, I have never been even remotely close to perfect! Recently, though, I’ve been toughing my way through some medication changes for the dumb stabbing pain in my eye, changes that have brought on depression. Now I need to decide if I will try to persist with the meds (which actually help the pain), in the hopes that the depression will lift, or if I should go off the meds and accept the pain as my 24/7 companion.
See, I AM cheery, am I not?
It probably doesn’t help that the world in general is in such a funk right now. I mean, we’ve been through some crummy economies before, but in my (rather long) lifetime, I don’t believe the entire planet has ever entered into a slump on virtually the same day.
I’m not a big fan of extended election seasons, either. One of my girlfriends (waving to Alison!) actually took a trip to Ireland in part to escape the craziness of the election, and I WISH I were with her right this very minute. Don’t you?
I wish I could say I have high hopes that the next president and congress will be able to correct some of the overwhelming problems this nation faces, but I believe we’re in for a world of hurt here. The problem is that no one seems willing to address the causes of the crises---only to patch over the symptoms. That NEVER works for the long term, and what on earth would make us think this time is different?
One of the ways the U.S. and many other countries attempts to gloss over facts is the continual printing of money, which if allowed to fester, eventually results in a situation like the one currently happening in Zimbabwe---hyper-inflation. If you want to see some pictures that will blow your mind and make you wish you’d studied New Math a little harder while you had the chance, check these out!
Think it can’t happen here? How many Zim dollars you wanna bet?
Droppin’ Gs
It’s bad enough that millions of us have watched our retirement accounts drop thousands (Gs for short) in the blink of an eye. I mean, the indignity of hitting “refresh” on Scottrade’s marketwatch page and seeing the market lose 300 points in 20 seconds is more than a little unnerving.
But there’s something worse. Something so insidious that the entire nation---both those invested in the stock market and those largely unaffected by the economic downturn of recent weeks---cannot help but fall under its evil influence.
And that, O fallible ones, is the sayin’ of words minus their final consonants.
I’m guilty of it myself. I say I’m gonna go, instead of going to go. But I try my best to only do it when the hearing of the sounds actually contributes to a simpler understanding of their meaning. You’ve got to admit that “going to go” has really gone too far, construction wise. “Gonna” works pretty well as a substitute.
But when presidential and vice-presidential candidates go from reasonably well-spoken individuals to hayseeds who are tryin’ to win votes with the common folk by usin’ Ozarky mannerisms, it just gets awful tirin’, awful darn fast.
So I’m proposin’ that we protest this artificial affectation they’ve all takin’ on. Insist that your candidate add proper consonants to his or her ridiculous sounding words or you’ll be up and withholdin’ your vote! Hold them to linguistic standards, even if you’ve lost all hope of them meeting any others!
After all the Gs we’ve lost, though (both in dollars and letters), I’ve got to say that the loss of a different consonant is the one that is truly worryin’ me to death.
People, if you still have Emergency Fun instead of an Emergency Fund, make like Vanna and buy yourself a letter D now! I’ve never been as sure of anything as I am of the fact that you’re gonna need one really, really soon.
I’m just sayin’.
Help A Sister Out!
As you might remember, a couple of weeks ago I issued my latest release of Katy’s Market Timer, as a public service to all my fallible readers.
This infrequent timer is intended to help you with your own financial planning, since whenever I announce my intention to either buy or sell stocks, the market turns precisely against me and remains against me for upwards of the rest of my natural life. Which is considerably shorter now, I figure, than it was two weeks ago.
So, since you have likely benefitted from my market timer by many thousands (if not tens or hundreds of thousands) of dollars (or euro or yen or francs or whatever), I decided that today would be a perfect time to offer you the chance to pay me back.
Whether you are a fan of Obama or McCain, I’m hoping you’ll find a bit of humor and good cheer in the ”Joe the Plumber” and ”Spread the Wealth Around” items Doug and I put together last night during the presidential debates. We’re big fans of multi-tasking, and there’s no time like when you’re mourning the loss of half your money and listening to candidates tell you how they’re going to tax away the rest to start a sideline business, right?
Thank you for your support! :)
Broke And Broker
Sometimes, when you’re getting broker every day, it helps to sing your way through your troubles.
Anybody got any favorite songs for hard times? Songs that never fail to cheer you, to make you feel a sense of camaraderie with all the other poor chumps out there?
I’m stuck today singing, “Even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you, honey, everything will bring a chain of love.....”
Yeah, I’m sappy like that. How about you? Shoot me your best song in the comment section and let’s all hum a few bars together!!
Share Wear
I’ve written a couple of posts since I told you the story of my panty escapades during my writers conference trip.
One of my dear writer friends, Cathy West, even left a comment on one particularly well-thought-out and relevant post, saying that while my subject matter was all well and good, I should stick closer to the topic my audience is most interested in: panties.
In my eight years of blogging, I’ve purposefully remained a generalist. I have avoided becoming a blogger who only writes about writing, or about personal finances, or decluttering, or my faith, or my family, or elder care. Sure, I cover my personal experience in those areas, but there are so many other things happening in life, I just didn’t want to be tied down.
What if I occasionally dabbled in politics? Or the unwinding stock market? Wouldn’t fallible readers just love to know my opinions about the sub-prime mortgage debacle or Sarah Palin?
Just when I was starting to wonder, I landed in the hospital. I was only there 24 hours, from Friday night till Saturday evening, but during those tense hours in tube after tube after tube (dear Lord, deliver me!) I had a lot of time to reflect on you, my dear audience.
And since I landed in the ER without any spare panties, I also had plenty of time to wonder where my next pair would come from.
By Saturday morning, I felt pretty desperate to get cleaned up. Doug wouldn’t be arriving for several more hours, and I was stuck with the same pair of underwear I’d arrived in. I’m sorry, but that just doesn’t work for me.
I’d told Doug what to bring with him when he came, but my troubled mind conjured images of my last trip to the ER when I’d given him similar instructions. Back then, after I was admitted and knew I’d be an in-patient for several days, I asked my dear husband to bring five pairs of panties. It seemed like a simple enough request.
He brought one pair of raggedy underwear, three bras, and two girdles. Dave Barry might be able to make this up, but I am NOT.
This time, I couldn’t take any chances. What if he showed up with a freakin’ Spanx???
So, after getting cleaned up, I told the nurse that I’d found myself utterly and irretrievably pantyless until my husband’s visit, and she seemed to understand how much security I take in underwear.
She came back into my room in a moment with a sealed packet of...something. I honestly had no idea what. “These will work until your husband gets here,” she said.
I tore open the package to discover two rectangles of paper mesh. Each one was approximately six inches wide and three inches high. The nurse had already left the room, so I could not question her about her gift and how on earth to make it work on a body older than age three.
So I did what I do best: I experimented. I went into the bathroom and studied one of those rectangles until I figured out which end was up. Sure enough, one of the six-inch sides opened wide enough for me to insert a hand. Then my hand kept on traveling until it opened up a tiny leg hole on the other side.
But would an actual, real woman’s thigh fit through it? I became ever more determined to find out!
Miracle of miracles, it worked! The paper mesh stretched in both directions, and in no time, I knew the height and width and breadth and depth of a darned substantive pair of disposable panties.
No sooner had I emerged from the bathroom than Doug showed up with a bag of underwear. No bras or girdles this time---trust me, he learned his lesson on that one. I peeked into the bag and said, “I remember asking you to bring cotton panties. In the hospital, I want cotton.”
Let’s just say he’d packed some pairs that were decidedly not cotton.
“I looked through all of them,” he said. “And I liked these best.”
It figures. After all, he was my very first fallible reader.
Buy And Bail, Before It’s Too Late!
I thought I’d heard everything.
I especially thought I’d heard everything about how poor, unfortunate mortgage holders all over the nation have become unwitting victims of predatory lending practices. It’s those greedy bankers, mortgage companies, and various and sundry financial institutions, I tell you! The little guy just can’t catch a break.
Except that, evidently, we can.
If you haven’t heard of “buy-and-bail,” I encourage you to google it. Read articles in the Wall Street Journal and at ABC online. Then go ahead and read articles published by folks in the business of lending money. Tell me what I’m missing, O ye fallible ones!!
Here’s the gist of how you, too, can profit from buy-and-bail, without feeling even an ounce of guilt over your fraudulent behavior, since by now everyone knows that the taxpayer will bail the financial institutions out should you decide to put the screws to them.
Let’s say that in 2006, you purchased a home for $450,000 with no money down. Already, you’ve got a big problem--or then again, not. I guess it depends on how you look at life. Anyway, two years later your house-formerly-known-as-"dream" is now your constant nightmare.
Its value has dropped to $225,000!!! This is completely unacceptable!!! Why, two years into home ownership, you were practically guaranteed that you’d have a ton of equity, even though you didn’t have a single cent of a down payment when you purchased. The nerve!!
Plus, darned if that mortgage you took out didn’t turn out to be an ADJUSTABLE. Now, maybe you didn’t quite realize this at the time, but adjustable is code for UP. So, you’ve found out that your payment is about to jump from an already too high $3300 a month to a deal breaking $4000 a month.
What do you do? What CAN you do? Evidently, plenty.
1. Find a house exactly like yours in a nearby neighborhood. A house that two years ago sold for $450,000, but is now selling for $225,000.
2. Purchase said home, with no money down as per usual.
3. Move your furnishings into said home and immediately after you close on the new place, let your previous home slide into foreclosure.
Bingo! We have a winner! The foreclosure will only hurt your credit for four or five years, but who cares? You won’t need to purchase another home during that time period anyway. In the meantime, the housing market will turn around. You will instantly begin to build equity in your new home, which you got at HALF PRICE.
Why, if you’d waited around for your original house to regain its value, you’d NEVER get ahead. And as we all know, that just wouldn’t be fair.
If it occurs to you to feel bad for all your previous neighbors, who now have one more foreclosed upon home on the block, dragging down their property values, resist the urge to repent. It’s every homeowner for himself!
And as far as the lending institutions go, you can fall into a blissful sleep at night by chanting, “They got what was coming to them. They got what was coming to them....”
We’ve been told that the number one reason folks lose their homes is because of catastrophic medical bills, and in the past, that might very well have been true. That’s the kind of unfortunate situation I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
But now I’m wondering how many McMansions sit empty, bank-owned, and discounted even further than the market warranted because of not only unscrupulous lending practices, but treacherous purchasing practices, as well.
All I know for certain is that whoever thought of this scam has the kind of brilliance I missed out on when God was passing out talents.
On Bad Behavior And Bailouts
I admit right here and now to knowing next to nothing about economics and how free markets work most efficiently.
The only thing I really know much about at all, in fact, is raising children to become responsible adults. And a bit about the process by which behaviors are either encouraged or discontinued. The truth is, if one of my kids landed in jail because he’d committed a crime, I would hesitate (and probably decline) to bail him out.
Of course, if he’d been thrown in the slammer due to some terrible misunderstanding on the part of law enforcement officials, that would be a different matter, one that obviously doesn’t apply to the situation at hand.
Is there ANYTHING that would make us believe that the practices Congress is seeking to throw money at weren’t completely intentional and, in fact, ENCOURAGED by the very lawmakers who now want to rob Peter (YOU!) to pay Paul (THEM!). I think not.
So I’ll stick my neck out here and say that on general principle, I am completely against bail-outs. I’m talking governmental, corporate, and personal. I’m a big fan of letting markets (and families) sort out their own difficulties and--as much as possible--change their own behaviors in order to achieve different outcomes from the ones they’ve gotten so far.
I realize there’s a chance that if we had no bail-out package whatsoever, the suffering we’d all endure as we adopted new (more fiscally responsible) behaviors would be stressful and difficult, and possibly last longer than if Congress does pass the deal.
However, that’s no reason to pass legislation that bolsters the confidence of those who’ve done wrong and essentially puts them in the position of being enabled to continue the abhorrent borrowing and lending practices that led to this mess to begin with.
As for credit drying up, my mailbox JUST YESTERDAY contained credit card offers at 0% from five separate companies. We are debt-free except for our mortgage, but we’ve got credit lines out the wazoo. I expect the offers will continue ad infinitum, because we have a strong history of paying back what we owe.
I’m not bragging. What I’m saying is that credit will always be available to those who have the ability to pay back what they borrow. And that’s as it should be. Believe me, for the early years of our marriage, we would NOT allow ourselves to get a credit card at all because we KNEW our meager income could not support a payment to a lending institution. I know whereof I speak.
If parents, companies, financial institutions, and governments began to operate (for the first time in decades) on the principle of rewarding good behavior (such as obedience, saving, investing, and building businesses without unqualified borrowing) and discouraging bad behavior (by putting the kabosh on bailouts), we’d all be a lot better off in the long run.
The long run may take a long time, but the payoff is so worth the wait.
Here are two articles I couldn’t agree with more. Since they are both written by libertarians, perhaps that makes me one? Hey, whatever it takes.
A Harvard Economist Speaks Out
Karl Marx Makes A Comeback
Fair And Fallible Disclosure
As many of my longtime readers will remember, it has been my consistent policy since I began blogging in 2000 to alert you to any big decisions Doug and I make regarding our investment portfolio.
It has been my experience that whatever we decide to do using the method you may euphemistically refer to as Doug and Katy’s Market Timer, the market moves against us from that moment on into perpetuity.
As a service to you, O fallible ones, let it be known that today, September 29, 2008, on the day of the worst single point-drop in the stock market EVER, Doug and I are buying.
You can thank me later.
Classy Men
I want all you ladies to know that I have quite a large number of male readers. And you know what? Right now, I could not be prouder of them.
Fallible though they may be, not ONE commented on my last post.
Can I just say I’ve got the classiest male readers in the entire blogosphere? Because I do.
Thanks to those of the fairer sex who commented. I laughed at each and every one of you, even more than I laughed at myself.
Mary DeMuth even wrote me a poem! As far as I know, only three people have ever written me a poem: my father, my husband, and our best man (waving to James!).
It’s a true blessing to be able to come here and tell it like it is, even if it’s definitely not as it should be! Thank you for giving me that singular joy. I hope I can give you some small laughs for many years to come.
Well, At Least I Was WEARING Panties!
I’m home from my writer’s conference, and want to at least cover the basics of what happened in Minneapolis.
American Christian Fiction Writers is growing by leaps and bounds. I think this year there were nearly 500 conferees! I love writers and editors and agents (waving to Rachelle!), but 500 of anything is a lot for me. I have to have tons of white space in my life, you know what I mean?
At the opening session, I found a nice safe place on the left side of the room, as close to the doors as possible for easy escape, and close to the front of the room also, so that I could hear.
I love meeting new people, and don’t mind at all sitting with strangers (167 first-timers this year!), as long as I don’t get blocked in. I’m weird that way.
Halfway through the session (a panel of agents talking about industry trends, etc), I exited the room to use the facilities. The darned doors, even if you tried very carefully to prevent this, slammed way too loudly. When I came back from the restroom, I saw that one door was open--in the back of the enormous room. To prevent any additional disruption, I used the open door.
And I walked up the left hand side of a very extremely large room. Did I mention the five hundred people?
As I reached my aisle chair in the front, but just before I sat down, a woman I do not know came up behind me, covered the entire backside of my body with the front of hers, placed her hands on my shoulders, and whispered in my totally deaf ear.
“You skirt is caught up in your panties.”
I screamed the loudest whisper you’ve ever heard. “Fix it! Fix it! Fix it!” At the same time, I yanked on my skirt every which way from Sunday.
“You got it,” she said.
I slunk (or maybe slanked, it’s really hard to say) into my chair and, for the rest of the session, endured a near-death experience.
Just for the record: My panties were BRAND new, and black. I’m thinking, though, that the knee hose ruined the look.
For the rest of the conference, I sat in the exact same spot, secure woman that I am. And I wore skirts, too. Way to give ‘em something to talk about, huh?
I’ll go ahead and tell you that I had a number of freakish health concerns during the conference, including the fact that I wrenched my lower back something fierce doing a twisting motion involving my suitcase.
On the way home on the plane, I could not get comfortable. My friend Nancy Moser, who travelled with me, suggested I use an opaque bag of clothing I’d stuffed in my carry-on when it wouldn’t fit in my checked bag.
“Just roll it up and stick it behind your back for lumbar support,” she said.
It worked great! As long as I didn’t forget the bag when I got off the plane, I’d be in business.
Nancy and I got separated on one of our flights. I sat with a woman about my age, who only opened her eyes once, said “hi,” and closed them again. When we arrived on the ground, I reached behind me for the bag and stuffed it back in my carry-on before standing.
As I stood to exit the plane, her eyes opened for the second time. “I think you’ve lost something,” she said.
I turned around to see her holding in her raised fist THREE pairs of my down and DIRTY black panties. I’m pretty sure she thought the bundle was a scarf.
A good writing technique is what teachers call “bookends,” when a writer ties the end of the story back to the beginning, thus increasing the overall impact.
How am I doing so far?
Switching Up The Rhetoric
I’m sure you’ve all heard the age-old wisdom just like we have.
Don’t invest money in the stock market unless you have a five to ten year outlook for that money. In other words, if you’re saving money to purchase a car, and you know you’ll need the money in three years, don’t risk your principal by putting it in the stock market.
Five to ten years starts to sound awfully near when you’re 56 years old, as is my husband, and hope to retire...someday.
But guess what I heard yesterday in a financial news segment on NBC?
Don’t invest in the stock market unless you have a TWENTY to THIRTY year outlook for that money!!!!
So I guess we should cut our losses and secure our Sleep Number mattress?
The Best Writers Conference Maybe Ever!
Well, this is the week I’ve been waiting for! Or, I guess I should say, the week for which I’ve been waiting!
The American Christian Fiction Writers conference convenes on Thursday in Minneapolis. I’ve heard rumors that there may be as many as 500 novelists and wannabes in attendance! It truly is a fantastic conference, and this is my fourth year to attend. My travel buddy is Nancy Moser, a wonderful author I’ve interviewed here, and a personal friend from way back before her first novel came out.
If you are an aspiring author, I can’t urge you strongly enough to start researching the many conferences available to you. You’ll probably find some in your own town, or within easy driving distance. Some are one-day events while others last three or four days.
Through ACFW, I have made so many wonderful friends, at all different stages of their careers. I have tried to be an encouragement to those who are newbies, and without even trying, I have received so much more in return. I have signed up for volunteer positions at the event, and ended up meeting folks who’ve become long-term buddies.
This year is a little different for me. As many of you know, since I have previously declared this news in capital letters here on fallible, now I HAVE AN AGENT!!!! Oh, yeah. It still feels good to write that!!!
I will still be having pitch sessions with several editors who represent publishing houses, but this time, if they are interested in seeing my book, I’ll just be passing that news right along to Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary. And she’ll take it from there! I can’t tell you how fantastic that feels.
By the way, you really might be interested in Rachelle’s blog. It was recently included in a Writer’s Digest magazine list of the 100 most influential blogs for writers. She doles out information and inspiration about the publishing industry on a daily basis and also has regular contests with great prizes. If you consider a great prize having her read some pages of your work-in-progress and give you valuable feedback, that is.
All in all, it’s a great day to be an aspiring author! A great week, actually.
Post Hurricane Ike
At around noon today, with untold damage in Galveston and Houston, and with at least three million customers out of power, I decided to click on the Weather Channel online to catch up on the news.
We don’t have cable (a waste of a perfectly good $50/month, in our experience) and the network TV stations all featured Dora and other cartoon characters providing essential entertainment to the children (and yes, the adults) of our fair nation.
I don’t know the name of the weather chick on the Internet, but dear Lord, was she cheerful! Texans REALLY need to find out who does her meds. Maybe they could put together a class-action suit against the doctor and each end up with enough money to buy the gasoline to get back home.
She showed a graphic displaying the information that the Houston area had been about 5” below their average rainfall for this year. And then she smiled hugely and said this, and I promise I am not making this up because, honestly, I’m not that clever:
Hurricane Ike “completely obliterated the area’s rainfall deficit.”
I’m thinking a certain someone could take sensitivity training from, I don’t know--Ann Curry? There’s a time to rejoice, but is it really in the face of such a huge disaster?
The Mondegreen’s English
When thick brogues are an essential element of a wee little first-generation American’s upbringing, it’s not easy to avoid poor Lady Mondegreen.
Never heard of the chick, you say? Never heard of Sylvia Wright, either? Well, neither had I until this morning, when I read my friend Robin Lee Hatcher’s blog post. Now I can’t stop laughing---and remembering.
Sylvia Wright coined the term mondegreen in an essay “The Death of Lady Mondegreen,” which was published in Harper’s Magazine in November 1954. She described how, as a young girl, she misheard the final line of the first stanza from the 17th century ballad “The Bonnie Earl O’ Moray.” She made up a last line that made perfect sense to her, though, and recited it with gusto and grief, I’m sure.
I’m betting her mother, who read the Scottish ballad aloud to Sylvia, was from Scotland. How else would the words “laid him on the green” sound like “Lady Mondegreen”?
That’s the deal with those Scots. They get their vowel sounds twisted all to heck and back. An innocent child comes home from first grade with a simple list of three-letter spelling words to learn and her dad can make them sound like words no one else in the class knows. Or wants to know.
And then he’ll criticize the teachers for not educating his child in “the King’s English.” And sometimes, while he’s criticizing, the child picks up a few vocabulary words that shouldn’t be repeated either with or without the brogue.
Little Sylvia Wright was one of the lucky ones. She finally recovered from grieving over Lady Mondegreen and went on to achieve linguistic history. Now the word mondegreen has made it into the dictionary. It means “a word or phrase resulting from a misinterpretation of a word or phrase that has been heard.”
Of course, this isn’t all about being raised by brogues. Americans of long standing get tripped up, too. And the results are stunning.
So, you mean Elton John wasn’t really singing “Hold me closer, Tony Danza,” like Phoebe on Friends thought he was? So many dreams shattered!
My kids pulled a million of these, and I’ve written many of them down---somewhere. Carrie sang, “Land where my fathers died, land where the children cried...”
There was a worship song back in the day that went, “It’s beginning to rain, rain, rain. Hear the voice of the Father.” Carrie must have heard that we had serious roof problems because her version went, “It’s beginning to rain, rain, rain, on the house of the father.” She had a haunting lament she applied to these songs, rather Sylvia Wrightlike in its grief.
Perhaps my father, before he died, had whispered “The Bonnie Earl O’Moray” into her infant ear. It wouldn’t surprise me at all.
Any twisted up words in your mind? Or in your children’s? Give me your best mondegreen. Do it for Tony Danza.
Katy McKenna For President
Look, people. If it’s experience you want, consider this. Barack and Sarah are babes in arms compared to me. I’m fifty-freakin’-four-years old. That extra 8-10 years packs a wallop when it comes to wisdom.
I’ve had political experience out the wazoo. I was elected Secretary (is that how you spell that?) and then President of the Student Council at St. Teresa’s Academy in Kansas City. My responsibilities, which I carried out flawlessly, included reading the names of those staying after school for detention over the PA system every afternoon and lobbying for ever shorter plaid uniform skirts.
I don’t believe in name dropping or anything, but I DID go to the same high school as Kate Spade. I’m just sayin’.
In addition, I think it’s time for the Irish Catholic thing to make a come-back, don’t you? I mean, Kennedy was a LONG time ago and Geraldine had the bad-hair thing going on. But forget Biden. If we’re talkin’ CHANGE, how about an Irish Catholic WOMAN for a change?
I mean, why not kill a WHOLE bunch of birds with one pull of the lever?
Speaking of killing, which--unlike Sarah--I have NOT done, I’ve shot tin cans to heck and back with a real gun and wrapped a boa constrictor around my neck on a dare. I’ve also ridden on a motorcycle from here to Iowa, and if I remember right, it was in one of those ever shorter plaid uniform skirts.
And just in case it’s good looking you’re after, let’s be completely honest here. I AM your woman.
I hereby declare my candidacy:
