Hmph.

This is Marley's latest pose. I have no idea where she learned it, honestly. My friend Liz suggested that this is how I might've looked when I told Todd he made my hot dog wrong because I wanted it charred and curved with deep slits rather then lukewarm and and rectangular, still molded in its vacuum-packed square.

I guess I can be pretty demanding. Sorry, Todd. Thanks for making me dinner! But sheesh. Just leave the thing on the grill a little longer.

P.S. I have been listening to Michael Jackson all day, including a Michael Jackson Pandora station featuring some much appreciated Justin Timberlake and Prince. ("Purple Rain" is on my all-time top ten. So is Seal's "Crazy." That one's in the top five, actually.) Anyhow, at least twice an hour I'm yelling something like, "OH! What a GREAT song this is!" And somewhere in the very back of my mind, while I'm singing "Man in the Mirror" as enthusiastically as I can to my daughters, I'm remembering that Michael Jackson was weird about little kids and I'm a mom. I'm saying this because last night while I was stocking up for vacation at BJs with my sisters, Chris Brown's "Run It" came on while we were in the gigantic drink aisle. Go BJs, I guess. Anyhow, I LOVED that song. And I was dancing (a little) with my niece Emma and about to talk loudly about how GREAT that song was when I remembered Rihanna. And then I stopped dancing. And I feel like I can't like that song anymore. So is my Jackson-love-fest hypocritical? Hmph.