Purity

I started out at a private college in Nashville, TN. Almost two hours from home, my grandfather still knew the families of friends I made there. One of these friends--I'll call her Ruth--happened to be the daughter of the Purity Dairies business, makers of my favorite brand of ice cream growing up.

This private college was also very religious. I had six credits of Bible after the first semester. For spring break that year Ruth, myself, and some other friends, all with two first names of course, drove to Panama City Beach, FL.

Ruth drove since she had the largest SUV. One night while we drove, or stalled along the strip, some guys leaned into the open windows. Apparently they wanted a "look at all the virgins." How'd they know we were pure and innocent?

Clearly Purity Dairies wasn't as popular that far South. Ruth's license plate--PURITY--was taken for an advertisement of chastity instead of milk.

Necks

Thank you Nora Ephron for saving me from wasting my neck away. I never realized the youth and beauty in a neck until you described the effects of aging on this seemingly ambivalent region.

Because of your latest book and advice, I've opted for V-necks and bateau necks. I'm even delving into strapless sweetheart necks.

My turtlenecks, cowl and mock, are now on sabbatical in the attic. I promise not to invite them back until my neck is the proper age for concealing.

They Ain't Just Crossing Guards

I still have a hard time calling Stewardesses, "Flight Attendants" and Librarians, "Media Specialists." I was just getting used to calling Crossing Guards, "Traffic Officers" when I saw a new title.

Stopped at the green light as the Orioles fans, mostly Red Sox fans, crossed the walk, I fixated on the fluorescent lime green vests of the traffic officers. Two of the three wore vests stating they were officers. But one of them was clearly in charge. His vest identified him as the "Traffic Sergeant".

True to form of all superior ranking officers, Sarge was leaning against the fence yapping on the phone instead of helping control the flow of traffic. He should be promoted to Traffic Captain for his leadership.

Cookies and Milk, No Cigs

My favorite homeless man does smoke. Because of my fiance's job, we now have four cartons of cigarettes. As grateful for the Baltimore smoking ban as I thought I'd be, it's harder to find smokers who'd maybe buy these cartons. And my quarterly conscience has kicked in. I try to get all the wicked out of me before this happens, but goodness and mercy came early this year. So I've:

Replaced my cigarettes gift to the homeless with 2% milk,

Donated to the Alzheimer's Association in memory of Granny, who we're
almost positive had a stroke and not Alzheimer's,

Given money to an animal shelter that finds homes for old, rejected pets
because we've borrowed our neighbor's old cat instead of adopting
one that didn't already have a perfectly good home, and

Decided not to hock the cigarettes on the black market even though they
could single-handedly pay for the DJ at my wedding.