The Age Police strike again. Blast.

They're baaack.

And now, the Age Police dare to imply that not only do I need hearing aids and elastic-waist pants, I must now consider a brand new problem. Of aging.

I am sorting through the mail. I almost throw away the heavy envelope, with its discreet return address. Curiosity prevails. I open it.

It is a brochure with a 60ish woman, which I am not.even.close, sitting on a stability ball somewhere in the farm country, with a dog, a schnauzer perhaps, poised beside her on his back legs, attempting to lick her face, it seems.

Discover a perfect fit, it says. For your bladder protection needs.

Note: Seriously?

The brochure contains lots of information about uncontrollable urine leakage and customizable fit and Dry-Fast Core.

Note to my Pilates Pals: Oh, yes. The Core. Do I hear a telephone ringing?

Now, I don't mean to make light of the situation because bladder control issues are nothing to sneeze at.

Note: Okay, you gotta admit that was hilarious. Sneeze at. Simmer down, everyone. It's just a little joke.

And lest I have yet to secure my spot in hell, please take note of the Attractive Undergarment anatomically desiged for men that looks and feels like regular briefs, obviously.

Note: I have nothing more to say. Speechless, yes.

Heck, yes!

Someone is Talking About Me in a Bar Tonight.

You know what I hate?

I hate when the dog is racing around, all excited, because she hears a jingling of car keys even though she is in the backyard at the time of the jingling and she sails in, all hopeful and excited to 'go' and I really am not planning to 'go' and simply need something from the car, which I now lock, yes, but then I feel obligated, to the dog, yes, because her eyes are wide with excitement, well, wider with excitement and she's racing around grabbing a favorite toy to bring along and shaking the living daylights out of it and so I grab her leash and she's already panting so I tell her to get a drink and then I realize that the sun is pretty bright outside and it's probably too warm for my sweatshirt, so I pull the sweatshirt over my head and inadvertently, everything comes off, and I mean everything because it's still early and certain supportive garments have not yet been strapped on and out of the corner of my eye, I see something moving in the backyard and then I realize that the darned pool guy is standing there (don't they ever knock?) and yes, he's over fifty and so, yes, I have made his day. Week, even.

Yeah. I hate it when that happens.

I'll Have a Cupcake. And a Side Salad, Please.

I am thinking of cupcakes. Chocolate ones with peanut butter frosting and key lime ones with limey-cream cheese frosting and cream-filled vanilla ones with chocolate ganache frosting.

I am thinking about a gluten-free chocolate cupcake with cream cheese frosting and a sprinkling of coconut.

Because I am eating one. And it is delicious.

Then I wonder how many calories in a chocolate gluten-free cupcake? and I then I wonder how many calories in cream cheese frosting? and, of course, these answers and more are right here at my fingertips. On the internet.

Gluten-Free Chocolate Cupcake - 101

Cream Cheese Frosting - 145

More? Glad you asked.

Straight from livestrong.com:

Tip: Try one of these other items instead of the Cream Cheese Frosting to consume fewer calories.

Cheese Macaroni Salad

(96 fewer calories)

Really? Cheese macaroni salad is considered a viable substitute for cream cheese frosting? On a chocolate cupcake?

Note: Wow.

Still more? Glad you asked.

Again, these facts courtesy of livestrong.com:

You could burn off the 145 calories from this Cream Cheese Frosting in a variety of ways:

Walking - on crutches for 37 minutes

Church - eating, sitting for 89minutes

Farming - milking cows, by hand for 45 minutes

Note: Huh. Crutches? Milking cows? Eating in church?

Probably more of the gosh-darned Macaroni Cheese Salad, no less.

Heck, yes!

My Toilet Seats. Beat the 'Crap' Out of Yours. Oh, I Said It.

I have excellent news ... about my new toilet seats.

New toilet seats, yes.

It appears that after years of use, toilet seats may become less desirable to sit upon, mostly on account of the white finish sort of rubbing off and appearing unseemly.

Note: With complete confidence, I state that my soft, delicate bum could, in no way, provide enough prickle or abrasion to cause such unseemly damage.

So, Hub and I head to the home improvement center to buy new toilet seats. We are pleased to find that toilet seats are widely available in a variety of colors and styles. White or ivory, hard plastic or padded vinyl, wood grain or perhaps, on second thought, that seat is actually real wood because it certainly looks authentic.

Note: Not.

There are beautiful, bright blue seats and adorable, frilly pink seats and breathtaking SpongeBob seats and seats with incredible, hand--embroidered butterflies and flowers .

Note: Not. At. All.

There are even no-slam seats which eerily descend at a snail's pace from the 'up' position to the 'down' position. Wow. An interactive toilet seat.

Note: Freaking. Me. Out.

So we go out on a limb and buy white plasticky ones. But we splurge a bit, yes. We buy the Westport Xcite toilet seat.

Note: Xcite, yes. There is no way that I can make up such an incredible stroke of luck.

I am now enjoying my three new toilet seats. And yes, they are XCITING. Very. And isn't the act of using an Xciting toilet seat really the quiet dream of every Trophy Wife?

Heck, yes!

The. Incident.

People can change. Their minds. And I have, yes.

Before the Incident, I believed that those sharp prongs lining the eaves of the supermarket were cruel and inhumane to the fat little pigeons just wishing to roost there and raise a lovely little family.

After the Incident, I believe that those sharp prongs are not sharp enough and perhaps, with enough effort, those prongs could become nice little kebabs for roasting instead of roosting.

Before the Incident, I believed the gentle coos and warblings of the pigeon were soothing. Enchanting, even.

After the Incident, I believe that those same coos and warblings are the very voice of Beelzebub.

Sound the voice of warning! Alfred said it best in 1963. Click here. Or pay the awful price...

Does anyone have a good recipe for pigeon stew?

Heck, yes!

Return. Of the Oxy. Moron.

Noun

1. oxymoron - conjoining contradictory terms (as in `deafening silence')

or, perhaps as in ...

Making sloppy joes, the ultimate Manwich-inspired, almost-but-not-quite Hamburger Helper, in my $200 All-Clad D5 Stainless Steel Saute Pan.

Note: Hamburger Helper now comes in 'Whole Grain' Helper. No kidding.

or, perhaps as in ...

Topping my nonfat, sugar-free 9-calorie-per-ounce frozen yogurt with creamy hot fudge sauce.

or, perhaps as in ...

Watching the dude behind me, who is driving too fast AND on his cell-phone (a $142 fine in the great state of California) AND dangling a stinky, nasty cigarette between his fingers while exhaling stinky, nasty smoke and picking his nose and eating the stinky, nasty booger, probably.

Note: Oops, my bad. That's not an oxy-moron. Just a straight-up moron.

Heck, yes!

Spoons. And Dishing. No Moons, Gratefully.

I am standing at the check-in counter at the hotel, which is always too high (have you noticed?) although I am not a short woman. Daughter and I are excited about our girls' getaway in Monterey. The lobby smells vaguely of cigarettes and sea air, a combination that reminds me of pirates. Aye, matey.

Note: Any moment that is reminiscent of pirates is a good moment, indeed.

The hotel check-in lady is chatty. She is saying one queen bed okay? and I am saying oh sure, I don't mind sleeping with my daughter, as I didn't want her to get the wrong idea about our relationship, obviously.

She is still chatting. About having one bed. Women don't really mind, but men aren't as keen on the idea.

Note: She did not say keen. I just wanted to include the word keen as it is highly underused in general conversation.

Two men were checking in the other day, she says, and they weren't too happy about sleeping in one bed. She is giggling, now, thinking about it. One guy turns to the other and says, 'you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon'?

Sweet!

Note: I am always the little spoon. I don't think I have really ever been the big spoon. Just saying.