I always heard the green M&M's were special

If you are family…stop reading now. You will thank me later.







I think we should still have achievement charts and get gold stars long after we learn to pee in a toilet, tie our shoes or make our bed (although, a gold star – or a margarita - for making my bed every day might be a good motivator…) Our Big Girl charts should have items like, “Tell Your Gynie the Truth”…or “Learn How to Make Kick Ass Margaritas”…or…”Learn How to Put On Fake Eyelashes”…or... “Buy Condoms at a Store Without Spending $50 in Unnecessary Items.” Oh come on, you’ve done it – don’t even PRETEND otherwise! But were you dumb enough to add Vaseline and a ruler to your purchase?

And another gold star-worth achievement: “Ask For the Item if They Don’t Have it.” “Excuse me, kid-young-enough-to-be- my son…oh wait, you’re Johnny that used to go to preschool with Max…hi there, sweetie!…could you please go in the back and see if there are any more Trojan Magnums for me? Oh, and tell your mom and dad hi!” Don’t worry about traumatizing him. He’s young and resilient.


Today’s gold star was the best. I was at the mall at a discount bookstore where I inevitably landed in the self- help section. Not the diet and nutrition part. Oh no. The S-E-X part. And I thought…”How grown up I am! I can sit here in this section and not worry what is being thought of me.” (my brain wears vintage Chanel, btw) All right, it was more like, “Crap. Can I afford to get all TEN of these books?” To REALLY deserve the star, though, you can’t pretend that the purchase is for someone else. Salesgirl: “Do you need a gift receipt for these?” The old me: “OH YES!” I exclaim (oh wait, that was one of the titles of the books), “these are a gift for my maiden Aunt Ruth who just lost her faithful Golden Retriever. “ What??? I don’t know, it sounded good at the time. But oh no, not today, sister. Maybe a little too emphatically I said, “Heck no! These are all for me!” Galvanizing, of course, the sales girl to look a little more closely at the titles of the books and glance at me snidely – um hello, sweatheart, you’re wearing a hoody and 1980’s hair. You can borrow these books from me when I’m done. Regardless, my ego moans: Why, oh why, couldn’t she have been some tall, dark and handsome guy with soulful eyes and a rapier wit (okay FINE, ANY guy would have been fine!) to tell me: “Ma’am, from where I’m standing you don’t need a self help book to make yourself sexier.” Sigh. I’d even take the Ma’am. 

For now, I'll consider the $12 to be an investment.

And a gold star on my Big Girl Chart.