Public Service Announcement

Were you in the women’s public washroom minutes before me last night, leaving behind the odor of burnt matter?

Do you have an STD?

Do you have a raging STD that causes burning when you urinate?

Do you have an STD that is so advanced that it is the equivalent of having a flamethrower between your legs?


If you answered “yes” to the above questions, please seek medical help. There is no reason you should suffer with a urethra that shoots flames whenever you use it. While I do appreciate that the economy might be tough and money might be tight, there are clinics and places you can turn when you cannot afford the treatment you need. Please contact your local hospital for a referral or your county government for more information about free and reduced-cost medical care. No one should have to extinguish her hoo-hoo after peeing. And unless you have a penis or some sort of directional tool to control and project your flame, it cannot, in my mind, serve much purpose.

Please, folks, don’t let your friends shoot flames from their hoo-hoos. Not only is this painful, but it leaves an unpleasant odor behind in every washroom they use, and it’s possible that they could set off the fire alarm and sprinkler system, which would effectively douse their crotch and ruin their hairdo in a very short period of time.

Flaming hoo-hoos: you don’t have to suffer with them anymore.

When I Am Old, I'll Still Have Blue Hair

When did I turn 80 years old? I don’t remember turning 36, but suddenly I’m a decrepit woman who is looking back on her youth with vague recollection and a sense of something lost.

Marina and I were talking the other day about the fact that we’re both coupon-clippers and go to craft fairs.

Honorary elderly.

On top of that, we prefer making stuff to buying stuff. Clothes, food, jewelry, anything. From scratch. By hand. With aprons.

How is it possible we’re this old already?

We made plans for this weekend with Ann, but we have to get moving early so we can be home early, because we get tired.

I jokingly suggested that we should get to bed early Saturday after our shopping spree so we can go to bingo on Sunday.

Marina said, “Oh! I like bingo!”

Someone put us in a home. Take away our drivers licenses and put some diapers on us. Bathe us in Ben-gay and give us housedresses to wear so our fragile, un-elastic skin doesn’t chafe. We shall never wear shoes again – it’s strictly soft slip-ons so we don’t have to bend over. Zippers are a thing of the past. As are tampons, makeup, and thongs.

You know, maybe this isn’t so bad after all.