A Tender, Private Moment. Not.

I'll get right to the point. It's hard to find the time and privacy for sex when there are what seems like dozens of kids running around at all hours of the day and night. The other night we thought we had dispatched them securely, and Mr. Peevie and I retired to our boudoir and locked the door. It was after 10 p.m.--what should be a safe hour for conjugal activities. But no.

Minutes after I climbed between the sheets (and started watching a M*A*S*H rerun), a knock came on the door. I got up, unlocked the door, and opened it to find C. Peevie. He looked at me, and an expression of horror began to gather on his face.

"You...," he started, "you...you...had the...door locked?!"

"Yes," I said. "What do you want?"

"Well, I just came up to get money," he said, taking a step back as though I was contagious, "but YOU HAD THE DOOR LOCKED and now I want to THROW UP" He collapsed in a heap on the hallway floor, moaning loudly. "You had the door locked," he groaned, "AAARRRGGHH!"

C. Peevie's moans got the attention of A. Peevie, who wandered out of his bedroom to find out what the hoopla was about. C. Peevie obliged.

"Mom and Dad had. The. Door. Locked!" he said, tossing in a groan for good measure. "AAARRRGGHH!"

A. Peevie let out his own horrified noise, and also collapsed on the hallway floor. "ACK!" he said. "Ack, ack!"

"I just came up for some money," C. Peevie moaned. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to have your DOOR LOCKED?!"

"That's just stupid," I said. "I'll get you some money. Next time, could you ask for money before 10 p.m.?"

"Ack, ack!" A. Peevie groaned lugubriously. "I want some money, too!"

By this time, the cacophony of lament had attracted M. Peevie's attention, and she wandered into the hallway.

"What's going on?" she said, watching A. Peevie and C. Peevie writhing on the floor, weeping and gnashing their teeth.

"Aarrgghh!" said C. Peevie. "I have to have my brain scrubbed!"

"Ack! Ack!" said A. Peevie. "Mom and Dad had their DOOR LOCKED!"

M. Peevie is only ten, but is no slacker when it comes to interpreting innuendo. She dropped like a bag of rocks, and clutched her stomach.

"AAIIIEEE!" she keened. "Aaaiiieeee! Door...locked! Gross!"

I stood at the door and looked down at my three spawn, none of whom had been immaculately conceived. I decided to take a hard-line approach.

"Yes," I said firmly. "We had the door locked because we were going to HAVE SEX."

"AAARRRGGHH! Ack, ack! AAIIIEEE!" they groaned/moaned/keened.

"And now," I said, "I am going to LOCK MY DOOR again. I think you know what that means--so please disperse."

They dispersed--but not without another five minutes of anguished caterwauling and requests for money.

A Noble Persuasion

The traveling handbag strikes again!


Awhile ago I posted a little post about a cute purse I was carrying that my friend admired, which I gave to her. She subsequently gave it away as well--and then that person also gave it away. Here is the purse, along with one of its temporary friends:

I recently learned that the traveling purse had been donated to the Denver Dress for Success affiliate, whose mission is to "promote the economic independence of disadvantaged women by providing professional attire, a network of support and the career development tools to help women thrive in work and in life."

How brilliant and beautiful!

Here's what DenverJ had to say about the purse and its journey:

I just got a call from Donna, the Denver Director of Dress for Success, who spoke at the meeting I attended. She was really touched by our story and wanted me to know that she has shared it with about 50 people so far, including her director. She reads it to new volunteers when they come in. So, the blessings of the purse continue!

I hope to get another email soon about the purse going on a job interview, and a DfS client getting a job and starting a whole new chapter of her life.

Meanwhile, I have started another purse on its own journey. I bought it for $1.50 at the same resale shop where I bought the original Traveling Purse, thinking that it would be perfect as a summery tote to carry my lunch and stuff to work.

One day, my tote and I were minding our own business in my cubicle when my colleague Rosaduñas stopped by to show off her beautifully pedicured toenails. They were a smooth, summery, bubblegum pink. They looked smart and tantalizing against her sun-tanned toesies--and then we noticed that they were the EXACT SAME COLOR as the pink tote purse stashed on my messy desktop.

I had just told Rosaduñas the story of the Traveling Purse that very morning, and when we held the purse up next to her polished toenails (well, down, really), we both knew that the purse would be going home with her that night.

I don't have any expectations about this new traveling purse. It might be a staying-home purse this time, sticking with Rosaduñas until it falls apart or she leaves it at the beach by accident.

But I like to dwell on the freedom that traveling purses represent: freedom from a shallow attachment to a material possession.

Of course this noble persuasion only applies to purses bought at a second-hand store, not for example, purses special ordered by one's husband for one's 50th birthday and hand-made from a copy of one's favorite writing reference book.

Ahem. Can you sense another purse-related blog post coming?