I don’t know why people think it’s only men who have an aversion to snakes. I respect all of God’s creatures, but snakes give me the creeps. The other day I went out to the deck in our backyard and saw a thick, three-foot snake lying behind our grill. I was pretty sure it wasn’t poisonous although we do have Copperheads, Cottonmouths and Rattlesnakes. I stayed hold-up in my house the rest of the day because any snake can bite if he’s frightened.

I know I’m changing the subject, but soon our pond ducks will be nesting again, and I read that snakes like to eat their eggs. I don’t know why that horrible thing slithered up two steps to sit on our deck behind our grill where it isn’t even sunny. Maybe he expected me to make him an omelet.

I was listening to Dionne Warwick singing, “Don’t Make Me Over” on the oldies radio station. The melody is beautiful and her uncompromised voice releases each note with the clarity of a Canary. It’s the words, mind you, the words that aren’t realistic. The gist is that your spouse or lover should not try to change you now that you’ve fallen in love with him. I can’t quote verbatim, but some of the lyrics are as follows:

“Don’t make me over now that I can’t make it without you . . .
Don’t pick on the things I say, the things I do, just love me with all your heart
That’s all I’m asking you.”

At the end of the song where she wails, “Accept me for what I am; accept me for the things that I do,” she fails to mention that it is ten years into their marriage and she has gained seventy-five pounds. They are on food stamps because he got laid off from his job and can no longer afford to feed her. Intimacy is non-existent because he can’t find her you-know-what under her jelly rolls.

Dirty dishes are piled in the sink. He gave up on complaining to her and wants to wash them himself, along with their month’s worth of soiled laundry. Unfortunately, she no longer does the grocery shopping either and he’s always running out of detergents. However, I really did love hearing that old song again. Just call me an old-fashioned, romantic gal.

My husband had a cold a few weeks ago and I was pissed. I never get sick unless he brings germs into the house. It’s probably because I exercise, eat well and drink Screwdrivers. Vodka is a great anti-oxidant.

Being a good little wife, I made him a nice batch of chicken soup, took his temperature every four hours and gave him aspirin. I even let him have the T.V. remote control for three nights in a row. Believe me, giving up the Food Network for his reality shows was a sacrifice.

You would think that all of this proved how much I loved him, right? I don’t understand why he yelled at me for spraying his pillow with Lysol at night while he was falling asleep. Anyway, it worked because I never did get sick. Or was it the vodka?

If you live in the south, you’re familiar with large cockroaches. I’m talking hummingbird-size big. It doesn’t matter if you clean your kitchen top to bottom with bleach. It doesn’t matter if you throw your garbage out every hour on the hour. They still come into your home. You can’t even charge them with breaking and entering because they’re able to slip through the crack under your door when it’s closed and locked.

They are not biting insects. The worse thing they do is leave a brown streak down your walls where they relieve themselves. But, man, they are ugly. It’s wrong to judge people by their physical appearance, so why do I do it with cockroaches? When a few ladybugs make it into the house, I welcome them because they’re so cute.

I have to admit I do exterminate my house every three months or so to keep their numbers down. If I should see one writhing in pain (as opposed to finding one belly-up in the morning), I feel guilty and squish it to put it out of its misery.

Because I am a spiritual person, I do not like to kill anything. Maybe I should just paint their wing covers red with little black spots.

What’s the difference between a woman applying blush to her face or having Rosacea? I don’t get it. We women are not supposed to go out in public au naturel. Personally, I hate wearing makeup because it makes me feel like I’m clogging my pores. However, I won’t even go to the corner convenience store for a loaf of bread unless I put on some lipstick and blush. (And clothing, of course.) God forbid I look pale to the sales clerk and he tries to sell me some over-priced vitamins.

When I bought myself a toe ring, my girlfriend said, “I won’t wear a toe ring. My feet are ugly.” Was she teasing me? I happen to have the ugliest feet this side of God’s green valley. My feet are flat – no arches at all, folks. It’s a good thing I’m not a horse. And do you want to talk bunions? My bunions are so big that I’ve had inquiries about my twelve toes.

None of the above stopped me from buying a toe ring, however. The older I get the less self-conscious I am about my flaws. Besides, I think if we have ugly feet we need to decorate them with as much bling as possible.”

I hate it when my husband tells me my word processing software is not out to get me. “It only does what you program it to do,” he says. That’s not true. I pulled up a new, blank document the other day, started typing and noticed the text was tiny. Worse, when I went to check the font, the computer told me I was using, “Times New Roman – size 12.” That’s what I always use and the text on the page always reflects that. Not this time. And don’t even get me started on the “spelling and grammar” feature – that’s another complaint.

Needless to say, I didn’t want to start another fight. (With my computer that is, I don’t mind losing my temper with my husband.) So I deleted the document and gave my software program a cool-down period while I went to the kitchen to do some cooking. An hour or so later I tried again, and things were as they should be.

It does remind me to save my work, which every writer knows is a God send. And the “cut and paste” feature rates as one of the best inventions, a mere second to the microwave.

Perhaps I need to thank it every once in a while. We all do better with positive reinforcement.

Did you see Michelle Obama on the news digging up a patch of White House lawn, promoting home-grown organic vegetables? I guarantee you won’t see her months from now on her hands and knees weeding.

Too much emphasis has been put on organic foods. They are more expensive and they spoil faster. Supposedly, they contain fifty percent more nutrients, minerals and vitamins. So what? You can always get that stuff in pill form and there’s no chewing involved. And what’s wrong with pesticides, insecticides and herbicides anyway? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

You’ve all heard of Einstein’s theory of relativity, right? It has to do with the structure of time and space. Don’t ask me to explain further. I can’t even add single digits without a calculator. I’m bringing this up only because I came up with my own theory. It’s called Lou’s Theory of Irrelevantivity. Please, I don’t need any rude replies from you English majors and educators. I know it ain’t a word – I own an unabridged dictionary.

Let’s say you’re driving on a highway, your car airconditioner isn’t working and the gal behind you is blasting her horn. You check your rear-view mirror and see that it’s a guy – figures. (No offense, men.) You roll down your window and motion for him to pass you since the sixty-mile-an-hour speed limit was too confining for him. Instead of passing, he’s giving you the finger and grinning. It’s just another two miles before you get off the highway and head for home, yet it seems to take an hour.

On the other hand, you’re relaxing on the couch, watching a really good movie on pay-per-view and eating your second éclair. You pause the television to go get some ice cream, glance at the clock and see that an entire hour passed since your last trip to the kitchen.

You see, there’s no need to be a scientist to solve this mystery of life. Time passes quickly when you have a full belly.

The next time you're surfing the net for unsubstantiated information on products that might do more harm than good, please do not pay your credit card bill. We all multitask, but some things need 100% of our attention.

I was just thinkng about ordering a lip plumper online when I opened the envelope from my bank and saw a "$10.00 Credit to Your Account" coupon. These are hard times, right? All I had to do was sign it and return it with my payment. Not! By signing it, I automatically would be enrolling myself in an "Auto Vantage" program which would cost $179.98 yearly.

It enraged me so much I felt like cutting up that piece of plastic that makes it painless to pay bills. Fortunately, I had sold my scissors at the last garage sale.

Are you familiar with Dr. Mehmet Oz? He's a heart surgeon who makes regular appearances on Oprah. He got famous for grossing us out by showing real decayed human organs on her show. The last time I saw him on Oprah he was telling us our poops have to be an S shape. Yes, I'm serious. He said that's the only way we know that we're digesting our food properly. Well, Dr. Oz, obviously you don't suffer from constipation. I'm grateful if little O's pop out with no pain involved. When I'm really backed up, I have to take a laxative. What comes out resembles the muddy Mississippi, but that's far better than being gassy all day. Look, Dr. Oz, this is just a bowel movement - it's not calligraphy.

Do you blog? It doesn't make any difference if you're a published writer or a struggling writer. For that matter, you could be a brain surgeon or a sanitation engineer (garbage collector.) Ya gotta blog. Some day when you leave this earth, your friends and relatives - especially your children - may benefit from your wisdom. Do you think that the next generations are going to read your hard-copy journal after they divvy up the money and valuables? Of course not. But they might Google your name while searching for hidden estate treasures or other dead relatives. The point is, they could possibly benefit from your mundane observances of daily life. So get rid of that pen and get yourself a piece of cyberspace. And start venting!

Good morning. I'm so glad you came back to read my thoughts for the day. I already told you, Mom, you can pause the T.V. show you're watching. What was that? You can't find your eye glasses? Okay, I'll read it to you. But first let me write it.
Well, it's another day in the life of a struggling writer. Yes, of course, I'm still writing. I've got nine projects started already. Finish one of them first? That's a novel idea.
Sorry, I have to help Mom find her orthopedic shoes. I'll finish this posting later. Maybe.

Oh, wow. I have a blog and it was free. Hey - is anyone reading this? I'm not shamelessly plugging my book before it's even out. It took me half an hour to find something to put in title that hadn't already been used.
I'm signing off now. Does anyone care?
I feel like Barbara Streisand singing, "I'm the greatest star, I am by far but no one knows it."