Thoughts of the garden variety

I do not possess a green thumb.

Gardening is one of those things that I've always wanted to be good at. There is something beautiful and poetic about putting something in the earth and watching it grow.

Last summer, like every summer since I've lived in this house, went something like this:

April: Oooh, I should plant a garden this year.

May: Yay, it's nice out! I'm going to plant petunias and rose bushes and strawberries and chili peppers and string beans and basil and cilantro. I will eat fresh fruits and vegetables from my garden, I will lose weight, and I will be blissfully happy. [dig, dig, dig, plant, plant, plant, water]

The Indignity of Downsizing: Monica's Trip to the Mall

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon shopping with my friend Heather at the long-awaited and much hyped new mall in south Reno.

For years, Reno only had one mall worth speaking of. I was excited to see some competition in the market, hoping that maybe - just maybe - I could find some attractive clothing and the temporary self-esteem boost that comes from wearing something flattering and fashionable.

You'd think that, by now, I'd have learned my lesson.

The new mall has plenty of clothing stores: Abercrombie & Fitch, Guess, Gap, Hot Topic, Ann Taylor, and many more places where women of my size receive no acknowledgement.

Usually, I ignore the other stores, just like they ignore me. My trips to the mall involve a quick foray into Lane Bryant, then back out to the parking lot.

However, Heather wears a size 4, so she has many more options available to her. I joined her in perusing some of the many stores that I usually avoid.

It can be kind of disheartening to look at tank tops that resemble the "onesies" my year-old niece wears, to stand next to mannequins with torsos the size of my thigh, and to get disapproving looks from salespeople who haven't realized that I'm not being unrealistic, I'm just here with my friend.

If I didn't like Heather so much, I may have felt Schadenfreude as she found that Abercrombie only makes tank tops for a prepubescent figure, completely ignoring slender women who wear anything larger than an A-cup. But I do like her, and I empathize, so we directed our collective indignation at clothing manufacturers instead.

How dare they make us feel like there is only one acceptable shape for a woman? How dare they produce a range of sizes that only straddles the smaller half of the spectrum? Who are they to tell us that Heather shouldn't be entitled to breasts, or that I'm such a freak of nature that I might as well not even exist?

Before the afternoon was done, we ventured to Lane Bryant. It's the one store where I feel comfortable, knowing that my size lies well within their range of offerings, usually toward the smaller end.

A friendly salesman directed me to the Seven jeans, arguably the most high-end denim product available for a woman of my stature.

"I've got to warn you," he said, "They run small. You might need a size or two bigger than you usually wear."

Why do clothing designers do this? Why do they think it's a good idea?

Size is everything, and I'll take a compact

I love small cars.

I drive a Toyota Prius, and its four doors and moderately useful back seat just might qualify it as the largest car I've ever owned.

I live in the part of the country where truck and SUV names come from (Sierra, Tahoe), so it can be kind of lonely at the bottom, looking up at people in their giant pickups and contemplating the irony of naming gas guzzling vehicles after natural features.

This is not a family blog: Moral and semantic questions posed by a pizza box

"Do you want another slice of pizza?"

"Sure."

"Uh oh."

"What's wrong?"

"It says on the box... Little Caesars, a Family Company."

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

Good lord, woman! What are you carrying in that thing?

The days are longer, things are growing in my yard, and I'm starting to get weird back and shoulder pains.

It's time to switch to a warm-weather purse.

I've heard that a woman's purse is a window into her identity. If that's true, I'm thickly built, overweight, and a magnet for things of little consequence. So let's see what's inside, shall we?

Inventory, April 2, 2006, or... Why Monica's Purse Weighs More than a Small Child