|Just to clarify.|
Once when I was a kid I made a fake newspaper for our family. It was called The Dean Street Gazette or something like that, with headlines like, "Fifi Wanders Off For Hours, Finally Discovered Under Guest Room Duvet." (Fifi was our cat--the one I accidentally exhumed from the grave while writing a stoned letter to my mom, remember?)
If I did that now, the front page news might be, "Air Conditioner Smells Faintly of Wet Garbage; Would Buy New One But Meh--Target Is Far," or "Monday Night Madness!! Jeff Breaks Down Boxes From Amazon; Una Writes Thank-You Notes While Half-Heartedly Watching The Tudors."
Not that my life is not awesome, because clearly it is--Jeff just walked by on his way to the kitchen and was all, "Do you need more Tootsie Rolls?" And I was like, "Um, YES, how did you know?" And he was all, "Because there are only two wrappers next to you, that's how." And I blushed and winked and decided not to tell him that there might be one or two more stuck to the underside of my thigh (I blame the leather couch)--but I just don't do very much anymore that doesn't fall under the category of eating, sleeping, or sitting in front of the fan palpating my stomach and wondering if Tums have an expiration date, or last forever like astronaut food or Twinkies.
So I guess this is just a long-winded way of saying that I don't write about anything but being pregnant these days because... well, see above.
But seriously, I do recommend the Q-Tip thing. Sanitary and satisfying. It's totally going in the op-eds this week.
Also: I wrote an article for The Observer this week about My Little Pony and the grown men who love them!