Well sir, when a woman that good lookin’, that talented, with that much time and motivation gets after it…means a man loses a good chunk of what he’s come to know as the familiarity of his castle. Goes something like this.

You come home Friday and there are these swatches of cloth over your couch and chairs, and some strips of paper with twenty-six shades of brown taped to your wall. You know what this is; the work of Santa's evil twin.

You learned about him as a small boy. He's the one who every couple of years, or, "when daddy did good this year," oddly enough, would come (usually around the holidays) and take a perfectly good sofa, replacing it with another that was puffier and harder to sit on.

Then there would be all this painting while you were in school. Sometimes Evil Santa would make your mom paint the living room a horrible green color. A color that made your dad say, "Oh, yeah, looks good," the same way he said, "Oh yeah, looks good," as he glanced at the horsey picture you furiously scribbled on the way home, just for brownie points. The trauma of childhood tramples your brain as you look around in dead silence.

"So, what do you think of this fabric for a new couch?" she says.

Inside you, the little boy is screaming, "THE OLD ONE WORKS! IT WORKS! WHY ARE WE GETTING A NEW ONE?" As you hunt around for signs of the Evil One, you respond without thinking:

"Oh, yeah, looks good." You back up slowly, half a step at a time, never taking your eyes off her. “What, um, else have you done today?”

“Started on the bathroom demo; I was thinking about adding a basement under the heated floor, and…”

Cough! You choke a bit on your tongue. “Sorry, did you say basement? We don’t have basements in Texas.”

She laughs and says, “But we will soon; I still got five hours before I go to bed.”

Santa!!

Went to meet a buddy at his kid’s soccer game last Saturday.  I got there a little early, found the correct field and had a seat on the bleachers. The group was mostly moms and we all nodded and said, “Hey.”  Soon enough, the friendly group and I were conversating like old buddies.

“You know what no one has anymore?" says Soccer Mom Number One.

What's that?" me and Mom Number Two say in unison.

“That old car that stays in the family for a hundred years, and moves from brother to sister to cousin to uncle and back again."

Mmm-hmm," Two and I nod in agreement.

“Ours was an old Citation, a gold Citation," says Two, and One and I laugh, because we know just what it looked like. 

Me and the soccer moms.  Kickin' back, chewin' the fat, and occasionally watching the kids play soccer.

Number One goes on to tell about the car she got as a wedding present of sorts, and I chip in with my recollections of a 1978 Gremlin.

“The car drove, sounded like, and had brakes like a tank.  But it ran and ran," I chuckled.

Suddenly Two jumps up.

Go, Billy, go!" she yells as Billy, in the middle of three other players, gets a breakaway to the net.  Five yards later, all that's to be seen are elbows and …shoelaces. 

“Good try, son," Two yells.  "His feet grow by the minute," she confides in us.  "Sometimes he's a gazelle; other times he's a gnu. He has a fabulous attitude about all of it, though."

We all nod.  Right there with you, sister.

“And then the last person gets the family car," I continue, "and it's running pretty good, everyone's put a few bucks in it over the years, and the last sister wrecks it, and the first thing she says is, 'What?  It was an old car anyway!'" I throw my head back and laugh.

“That's…um… never happened in my family," says One.

“Can't say as I recall anything like that either," muses Two.

Suddenly One jumps up and points at her Ashley.

"Ash, grab the ball!  Grab the ball!"

Two purses her lips. “Girl, you can't use your hands in soccer, not unless you're that catcher person back by the big cage."

“Well, really?  Guess I need to learn a thing or two about this game don't I?” 

We all scratch our heads a bit, and then One yells, "Ash, honey, pull up your socks!"

“You know," she says, "I could not find any white tube socks anywhere, for any of the kids.  I looked everywhere and I …"

And here I sit, talking about cars, but not about fixing them; about socks, but not the kind heavyweights throw. Ah, twenty-first century life.  The gender lines are wonderfully blurred, and a sensitive guy like me appreciates that.

“. . and just turn the sock around, and wear it for another day!"  We all cackle at Two's joke.

“But then, like the other day," I throw in, "I washed a load of whites, and ended up with eleven white socks that didn't have a match!  I about lost it."

“If they were white, what difference would it make?" One asks.  "I mean, I know what you mean, but … what do you mean?"

“Yeah, I know what you mean," I say, with a snort. 

Practice ends and the three of us compare notes on what tomorrow will bring.

“Billy's got a Scout meeting at eight," Two begins, "so if Leigh can watch Suzy after band practice, I can get Ken's shirts from the cleaners on my way home from work, and swing by the store for milk and bread."

“Oh, man, milk and bread!" One groans, "Thanks for reminding me.  I need to stop by Mart-Land for Dave's prescription, and make those cupcakes for Ashley's birthday party. Then there's the next day. Oh well, another day, another day behind."

One and Two graciously pause for me to chime in.

Hey," I say, "tomorrow will make the third week in a row I put my own underwear in the dresser drawer.  I'm just trying to do what I can to help out, you know?"

I inhale a sniff, manifest a confident, crooked half smile and hitch up my jeans (think Barney Fife) and nod. One and Two clear their throats. Yeah. I know girls, but I'm already taken.

My buddy finally shows up and we high five. The Mom’s stroll off with their little ones, and I walk away with even more of an understanding of what it takes to be a productive woman in our society. 

Kevin, the Honorary Soccer Mom.

“So what’s the big deal with this flu thing; why are we all freaking out? Closing schools! It’s just the flu.”

Well, I’ll tell you why…

From MedicineNet.com

“Although uncomplicated influenza-like illness (fever, cough or sore throat) has been reported in many cases, mild respiratory illness (nasal congestion, rhinorrhea) without fever and occasional severe disease also has been reported."

"Other symptoms reported with swine influenza A virus infection include vomiting, diarrhea, myalgia, headache, chills, fatigue, and dyspnea. Conjunctivitis is rare, but has been reported. Severe disease (pneumonia, respiratory failure) and fatal outcomes have been reported with swine influenza A virus infection."

"The potential for exacerbation of underlying chronic medical conditions or invasive bacterial infection with swine influenza A virus infection should be considered.”

What’s the big deal you ask? Vomiting and diarrhea, ladies and germs...VOMITING AND DIARRHEA!! Isn’t that enough?

This is a new flu strain. We don’t have natural anti bodies for it yet, right? It says, “…invasive bacterial infection.” Means we are defenseless against it. I’m thinking basic DNA restructuring, circus side show results, body snatcher pods and the whole nine yards.

Headache, chills, and dyspnea…how the heck do you even say dyspnea?

“Yes, doctor, in addition to the vomiting and diarrhea I think I have ‘dis-pa-knee….er…dice-ip-na…die-spinn….wait, be right back… (buuuick!)”

Now, I realize pretty much everything has the potential to kill you these days but that’s not the point.

We have a hard time when the idiot in the car next to us won’t let us over a lane right NOW; suddenly we’ll take fever, cough, sore throat and nasal congestion in stride? We could get rhinorrhea, for goodness sake. Whatever that is – do we get on all fours and start charging people? Great googly moogly.

Close the schools? I’m just gonna dig a whole in my backyard and hunker down for two weeks. I’ll be fine. I think I have some pork bbq in my freezer. Hopefully you home-from-school, freak show zoo animals don’t get a whiff of it and come over to suck my brains out.

*shakes his head* What’s the big deal, indeed.

It’s so close, I don’t have time for ten!

1. Ahhh! Rachel Ray accidently ended up on my TV the other night. The remote froze up for a second and I couldn’t change the channel. *shudders* It was…so…so…I’m sorry, let’s move on.

2. Kentucky Grilled Chicken. Verified by his own book and folks who knew him, I’ve learned Colonel Harlan Sanders could cuss a gangsta rapper to silence. I cannot imagine what he’d say about this, but it’d give a thug pee pants, that’s for sure.

3. The posted speed limit and cell phone speed limit. Know what? I guarantee you’ve yelled at me, because as much as it bugs the tar out of me, I’ve caught myself driving like my license says I live at 1234 Not-a-Clue Ave, Lalaland, TX while I was on my cell phone.

Twice this week I realized I was making one of those funeral procession Ralph’s or Louie’s while yipping on my phone. And in doing so I know I caused someone great aggravation as I brought their world to a momentary grinding halt. To quote Napoleon….Dynamite, that is….”Idiot!”

4. A “half gallon” of ice cream is now 1.75 quarts. OMG! Get that swine flu stuff off the front page; we need to get this word out right now!

5. Need more proof this world is on its last leg? Someone beat me at Name That Tune the other night. If the song comes from the late 1950’s through the 1980’s I’ll usually know the song and band name before you can blink. I could win under anesthesia, I’m that good. Until he other night.

6. Still more proof? Some IPhone wielding sixteen year old just said, “What’s a radio?”

7. The tree in our front yard is actually growing. When we lived in Florida we let this drive-by tree trimming company tidy up the tree on the front lawn. I think we were their first…and probably last…customer. The job was so horrid we started getting mail addressed to “The Munster Family.” We ticked the tree fairies off and ever since no tree’s ever made it more than a couple years in our front yard. Until this one. It can only mean we aren’t long for this world.

8. DVR’s. Like most technology, it operates on the drug dealer business method. Get you in, get you hooked, then it runs your life.

9. To quote a guy named Tim, when the horse is dead, dismount. But I’ll give this one more kick.

There are some great people getting fortunate breaks on the financial side these days. Good for them. On the other hand, I didn’t listen to the guy in 1993 when he said, “Oh, you can buy twice as much house as this one,” because I really couldn’t. Didn’t listen to banker in 2003 when he said, “You can refi and get all that equity working for you.” Some people listened to those two guys and now all of them are getting bailed out - the loaners and the loanees.

Looks like I’ll have to change up that old axiom. I guess I was born last night, after all.