If You Think The First Date Was Fun…

Posted on July 18, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

In my extensive summer schedule research, I’ve uncovered another train wreck of a reality show.  WeTV proudly presents Pregnant and Dating, check it out. Folks, this is why I don’t have to make stuff up to blog about.  I’ve seen some statistics (reliable figures from the interweb) that up to 50% of all pregnancies in the US are “unplanned.”  I sort of get that I guess.  I definitely understand single, pregnant women.  Dan Quayle be damned, Murphy Brown did it.  What I don’t get is the Dating part of Pregnant and Dating.

I know I’m on dangerous ground here, having never been pregnant myself.  But I’ve known lots and lots and lots of pregnant women, and as far as I can tell their focus is on that book, What to Expect When You Don’t Know What to Expect, trying not to throw up at work, breathing the right way during delivery and yelling at their husbands/partners for not painting the nursery the right color.  There’s a world of difference between Lemon Yellow and Lemonade Yellow-take it from me.  And Butter Yellow isn’t even in the same color refrigerator.  Also, moms have to pick out all the stuff their babies need as I blogged about here, so they are a little busy to work in dating.

The women on the show go through all the usual mating rituals; hair, make-up, a new outfit.  Again, honestly, I’ve never known a pregnant woman to say “I can’t wait to find a beautiful new maternity outfit for that special occasion.”  Some of the women who are just 4 or 5 months along don’t even tell their dates that they’re pregnant, at least not right away.  In all fairness, I think that’s a lot to spring on someone when you’re just getting to know each other.  The women face challenges like filling out their online dating profile—should they check yes on the “do you have children?” question?  There doesn’t seem to be an “are you currently pregnant?” option, but maybe this show will inspire one.

So there’s all that, and then sooner or later after a pregnancy a baby is going to turn up.  Again, I’ve never had one myself, but all those pregnant women I knew ended up with babies too, and I would say that they stayed pretty busy just with baby type stuff like feeding, changing, sleeping.  And that’s just the baby-the parents hardly ever get to eat, change or sleep.  Showers seem to be but a fond memory.  To the casual observer it’s a full contact sport.  So with a few annoying exceptions, most new moms (and dads) I’ve visited have been wearing t-shirts covered in baby spit and sweatpants covered in baby spit and then everything covered with whatever other stuff comes out of babies all the time.  They also tend to be exhausted and I’ve even seen one or two fall asleep while standing up.  Or my very favorite, from an adorable new dad “the thing is, without sleep, we’re both just sort of dim-witted.  We can’t whatchamacallit.”  “Think?” “Yeah, that.”

What I’ve never, ever seen is a new mom getting gussied up for that critical 3rd date.  Dabbing a little eau d’baby spit behind her ears.  It ends up there, but I don’t think they do it on purpose.  Plus, if the mom is going to go out she’s going to have to convince someone to hang out and get spit up on by her baby while she’s out at that new French restaurant.  It’s a long shot.  The show hasn’t progressed to the baby part yet, but (spoiler alert!) it’s gotta happen sooner or later.

All of this is to say that you have to watch this thing.  How can you not watch it?  If you don’t believe me, then check out the rave reviews.  According to one review that flashes across the screen during a promo for the show “it really highlights the stress of being pregnant and single.”

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I Hope You’re Happy Now Craig Price

Posted on July 15, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

A little less than a year ago I was at a conference and I heard a keynote speaker who made me laugh, and made me think about things a little differently.  The laughing is one thing but I’m usually not in the business of thinking unless I absolutely have to.  I hear a lot of speakers and typically forget them as soon as they’re done talking, but this character, this Craig Price, stuck in my memory.  I spoke with Craig at a reception later that day, and I was really in a huff because not only is he smart and funny, not only does he have a thriving career as a speaker and writer…he used to be a stand-up comedian.  Apparently a good one too. This man is living my life!  Well, maybe not my real life but the one I always assumed I’d have before I followed my other dream of becoming a legal administrator.  Dastardly.  This imposter calls himself The Realist.  http://craigprice.therealistsguide.com/

As I was asking Craig how he was able to sneak off in the night with my life, he had the nerve to give me good advice about my book.  Advice I eventually took.  I figured I should make him pay.  I got in touch with him recently and asked if he would read my manuscript and write a short review.  I was very touched when he didn’t hang up after he said “who is this again?” and with that we bonded as if we’d known each other all his stolen life.  Craig agreed to help, so now on top of everything else he’s nice and encouraging too.  I am about as ticked off as I could be.

I started feeling sheepish that Craig did all this for me and I never even read his book, Half a Glass:  The Realists Guide.  Did Craig let me buy a copy?  Nooo, he had to be Mr. Nice Guy and send one to me.  Of course, not only does his book not suck…it’s really good.  I’m not kidding.  I’ve read somewhere north of 12,000 business/self-help type books and I can count the good ones on one hand.  Well, I could until Craig’s book turned out to be high quality.  Now I need the thumb on my second hand to count his too.  Crap.  Don’t take my word for it, buy the book!  http://therealistsguide.com/products/half-a-glass/order-now/

Craig doesn’t write about throwing fish or moving cheese or finding our inner rock star; Mr. Realist says that even if I close my eyes and click my heels and visualize until the cows come home, I’m not going to be a Prima Ballerina.  Nervy, right?  And I had just cut the tag off my tutu.  Instead he gives some really solid, practical advice on how to harness the inevitable negativity in the world and make it productive.  And as if that wasn’t enough, the book is also hilariously funny.  To hear him tell it someone could, I don’t know, get cancer, and turn it into something positive and funny.  As if!

If that was as far as it went maybe I would have just been slightly steamed and moved on with my life…but there’s more.  Footnotes.  Not the ibid et al ad infinitum type either, really funny footnotes.  When a footnote on page 72 made me snort soda through my nose, I wanted to read it to Dan but I was laughing too hard.  So he snatched the book and read it for himself.  And then it happened.  Dan laughed. Not a half-smirky, gee that’s cute laugh; we’re talking about a full out loud laugh.  Then he tugged on his mustache and laughed again.

There you have it.  Not only did Craig Price steal my life, but after 25 years of me doing bad Mike Tyson impersonations in failed attempts to make my husband laugh, now he’s gone and done that too.  The made my husband laugh part, not the Mike Tyson part.  I can’t speak to the Mike Tyson part, but for all I know he’s good at that too.  Hmmph.

Realistically, this was bound to happen.  Thanks Craig-I mean it.

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The Cab Fare Was Only $50,000…It Was The $20,000 Tip

Posted on July 12, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Old habits die hard, and I can’t help but keep up with the law firm world.  Today I read about a partner of a major law firm who submitted $120K in false expense reports over 5 years; $69K on fraudulent taxi cab receipts alone.  Even for a big tipper, that’s a lot of cab fare.

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The partner said he didn’t do it for personal gain, he was just too busy on important client work to try to deal with the firm’s complicated expense reporting procedures.  I have no problem believing that the partner thought he was too busy to deal with procedures that he thought were too complicated.

The story took me right back to my days of law firm accounting, so I took a couple of aspirin.  This scenario strikes fear in the heart of every accounting manager, because all firms have very busy, very important partners who think they should be exempt from the pesky and complicated internal controls.  The problem is that while large law firms now operate like Corporate America, they are not publicly held.  Their shareholders have names and faces and corner offices, and hover in your doorway asking WTF, because they own the place.

In my prior life a partner like this would come to me on occasion and express his or her feelings about my department and procedures.  I would say “If someone in the firm embezzled $282,346.73 in petty cash based on ‘lost’ taxi receipts, who is the first person you would blame for not minding the shop?”  Sometimes this resulted in a partner asking if I was accusing him of being a thief, but most of them understood what I was trying to say.

Even if I wanted to cut someone a break, there were layers of bureaucracy above me. At one of my firms, the woman who was ultimately responsible for policing expense reports was nothing short of legendary.  She invented the word “scrutiny.”  She was 95 pounds of suspicion, wise cracks and English as a second language.  She was also smart and hilarious and I mostly adored her.  Fortunately she was in an office thousands of miles away, because in person every day would have been a bit much.

When we did get together in person for meetings and such, my colleagues and I would pour appletinis down her throat and beg her to tell us stories of how she terrorized her colleagues in her previous career.  Although Susie’s English was decent, she sometimes got things confused.  For example, when she’d tell us stories she would conclude with “That’s all bridges under water now.”  Sometimes I would use that very phrase when the CFO fussed at me on a conference call, and he would clear his throat and move on to the next item on the agenda.

Sans appletinis, it was not unusual for me to answer my phone and hear “WHAT YOU THINK YOU DOING?” in a rather unpleasant screech.  I would say “Hey Susie, how are you?”  I would put the phone down while she screamed some more, and then I would tell her I had to run but would get back to her soon.  I had a mole in her office who would tell me the minute Susie left her desk, and I would call and leave a voice mail saying I was sorry I missed her.  It wasn’t perfect, but it worked in my little world.

Susie once harassed an associate so much about his receipt timeline (she was like a detective) that he started taking pictures of himself in front of the hotel or a major city landmark, holding up a paper with that day’s date, and attached them to his receipts.  This is 110% true; I couldn’t make this stuff up.

Anyway, when I read about this fraudulent receipt situation, I thought about Susie and it made me smile.  Not under her watch my friend…not under her watch.

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Whenever I Wake Up…And I Put On My Make-Up…I Say A Little Prayer*

Posted on July 9, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

After my optometrist used his antique equipment to determine what I’d been saying all along, that I can’t see, he posed what I could only assume was a philosophical question.  “Do you want to see near or far?”  I said “Near?” and he said “Yes grasshopper, you are wise.”  Actually, he just nodded his head and made a note in my permanent record.

Anxious, I asked him if “near” was the right answer.  When he didn’t respond I assumed it was one of those trick questions that have no “right” answer; a puzzle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a turducken.  But as it turned out I wasn’t making a philosophical, hypothetical, rhetorical decision; he was literally giving me the option of seeing near or far.

I told the optometrist that I loved the idea of being able to see both far and near…and wide, I guess.  He said I couldn’t have it all anymore; it’s either near or far.  I reminded him that I am an American with all rights due a full citizen, including having it all.  He was unimpressed.  I would have to wear glasses for either driving or reading.  After much deliberation about street signs and oncoming traffic I realized seeing far was probably best for driving, and I would just deal with reading glasses as necessary.

On the drive home I was delighted with my far-sight.  It turns out that traffic lights have three separate colors, and there are lines painted on the road to separate the lanes!  When I got home I grabbed my laptop, or at least what I hoped was my laptop because it was small and warm but neither furry nor purring; grabbed my reading glasses, and was able to see reasonably well.  Victory!

The next morning I put in my contact lenses and started putting on make-up.  Ooops!  Almost forgot I need my reading glasses for anything near.  OK, now that I’ve got my reading glasses on I can see the tube of mascara and…you know where I’m headed, right?  I’d have to take my glasses off to apply the mascara, and once I took off my glasses I couldn’t see my eyelashes, the mascara or my hand.  Hmm.

I just kind of swiped the mascara near my eyelashes in the hopes the two would meet.  I estimate that 42% of my lashes came into contact with the mascara.  I couldn’t really see the results but I’m pretty sure it didn’t look so hot.  No problem, because I had a new plan for day two.  Put on make-up before I put my contact lenses in, when I can still see up close.  Can’t fool me twice!  All set.

My mascara and eye shadow looked terrific until I put my contacts in and the dripping lens solution ran down my eyes and rendered me a raccoon.  Waterproof mascara is only so waterproof.

So there you have it.  With my new lenses I can drive anywhere…but I can’t leave the house looking like this.

*Credit to Burt Bacharach and Hal David for the lyrics

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Here She Comes To Not Save The Day

Posted on July 7, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

My friend saw an old lady crossing the street with an infant in a stroller; a big truck was headed right for them, and she selflessly dashed out into the street and swept them both to safety.  Incredible.  In the course of her heroism she managed to break her foot.  Actually, she might have just slipped on her stairs but I like my version of the story better.

At least she knows she can count on me to help nurse her back to health.  I have a history as a totally competent caretaker.  Sure, there were some slips here and there.  When I was taking care of my mom after she had major surgery I put her in the car for the long ride to her doctor, assuring her I had her pain pills in hand, and then realized an hour away that they were still sitting on her kitchen table.  Ooops?

A day or two later Lisa and I were sleeping in the room next to my mom but we were pretty zonked out.  We told mom to call Lisa’s cell phone if she needed us in the middle of the night.  Please understand I was very sleep deprived when the ringing phone woke me up, and I cursed Lisa for setting an alarm for the middle of the night, slammed the phone shut (yep, we still had flip phones back then), and went back to sleep.

Thanks mom, for being such a good sport even under those circumstances.  I told you we’d laugh about it one day!  And one day we will.

My friend didn’t know all this about me.  She probably assumed I am perfectly capable of picking her up and taking her to the doctor.  And I am perfectly capable, except for the fact that I put my purse and keys down in her house and could not for the life of me find them.  Not anywhere, for like 15 minutes, or possibly 20, while the clock ticked away towards the time of her doctor’s appointment.  No stress!  At long last I found my purse and keys and we were on our way.

OK, so there was one tiny additional complication.  The doctor’s office is next door to a hospital to which I’ve been admitted at least three times and visited dozens of times.  Given this information, my friend wildly assumed I knew how to get there.  And I kind of do, just not 100%.  In my own defense, I was never the one who drove there, and I was frequently heavily sedated while I was coming and going.  I was born geographically challenged and I don’t think it’s nice to make fun of me.

You might say, hey, there’s a girl who could use a GPS!  But you would be wrong.  A GPS would probably just further confuse the situation.  I have a knack for taking something simple and making it complicated.  Just ask my friend.

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In A Land Faraway: A 4th Of July Celebration

Posted on July 4, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

In July 2005 Dan and I traveled all over Scandinavia and surrounds, including St. Petersburg (as I prattled on about in my blog of September 18, 2012 ) and Tallinn, Estonia.  As luck would have it we were in Tallinn for that most American of all holidays, the 4th of July.  We were so far north that we had daylight around the clock and absolutely beautiful weather.

As we came off the ship, the delightful Estonian mascot, Creepy Thing, met us at the dock.  No, I have no idea who or what he was supposed to be.

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We had a great day in the picturesque city, including a lovely lunch where Dan almost learned how to use a fish knife.

DSC02273 (2)  DSC02300 (2)

The downside of lunch was that I couldn’t do any good eavesdropping because the people at the other tables refused to speak English other than to wish us a happy Independence Day.  We were very touched by their good wishes as well as whatever the hell we ate for lunch.

When we returned to the ship that evening we were greeted with all kinds of festivities.  You may have already guessed that I loved the karaoke club on the ship.  Dan was just delighted when I dragged him down there yet again.  All of the Americans were getting extra toasted and waving around the little American flags the ship had given everyone, but only about 40% of the passengers were American.  Everyone else was quite content to have an excuse to drink (as if they needed one) and times were merry.

Sometime around 11:00 that evening, some slobbering drunk called all the Americans to the stage and put on the song “American Pie.”  Dan stayed at the table all the way in the back but of course I was the first to run out there.  There had to have been 30 of us on the stage, arm in arm, swaying and singing every word of the song at the top of our lungs.

I have to admit that I’m one of those people who gets all choked up when I hear the National Anthem, but that evening as we sang about good ole’ boys drinkin’ whiskey and rye, I had never felt so proud to be an American.  I’ve also never felt as suffocated by drunken smelly people as I was that night, but thanks to Don McLean all was forgiven.

When I got back to the table, flushed and breathless, it appeared that Dan had nodded off.  It must have been the fish at lunch.  So Don, thanks not only for the sad but amazing rock and roll anthem, but for a versatile lullaby as well.  Happy 4th of July to all, and to all a good night!

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The App Of The Future…I Can See It Now

Posted on July 2, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I am as blind as a bat, and have been for a long time.  Thank goodness for contact lenses; most of the time when I’m banging into stuff it’s just because I’m clumsy, not because I’m blind.  I guess that’s good news?

When Lasik surgery came along I carefully considered it for 2-3 minutes before deciding I’m dead-set against it.  First of all, there’s my shower.  Being blind can be a real advantage when there’s stuff you don’t want to see.  I walked in my shower with my glasses on once and noticed a film of soap on the glass and a crack in one of the tiles and all kinds of other crap I wish I didn’t know about.  Blind is bliss.

The other thing about Lasik is that I am a big chicken.  I’ve been through a lot of bizarro medical procedures, and I do just fine as long as I don’t see anything.  Eyes closed, off to the happy place in my head.  My happy place is a memory of a beautiful afternoon on Santorini; a great breeze and crystalline water and…OK, never mind.  This isn’t a blog about my happy place, but keep in mind it was one of the best days ever.  And not just the beach either-there was fresh feta cheese involved too.

Boy I love a good digression.  But back to the matter at hand; the problem with laser eye surgery is that by definition, I have to look.  I can’t close my eyes and that just doesn’t work for me.  And if I needed another reason, well, these are my eyes.  Bad as they are I have become accustomed to them and would really hate for anything to happen to them.  My contact lenses are comfortable and put up with a lot of abuse, so Lasik is a no go.

I recently noticed that everything I looked at was a little blurry, and not in a Vaseline-on-the-lens romantic way either, more in a what-the-hell-does-that-street-sign-say fashion.  So last week I dragged my sorry butt to the optometrist.  He looked at my eyes and then yammered on about my right eye getting a lot worse, but it was hard to pay attention because I was sort of fascinated with the equipment.  In every other doctor’s office I see nothing but new technology.  Everything beeping and buzzing and scanning and shiny and new.

Why was that not evident at the eye doctor?  As we went through the torture of “which is better, this or this?” in which I was supposed to figure out imperceptible changes in clarity it dawned on me that this is the same way we figured things out when I was a kid.  It’s 2013, why isn’t there an app for this?  And that’s what I inquired about when the doctor asked me if I had any questions.  He confirmed that the equipment he uses has been around for about 50 years, maybe more.  I mean, when’s the last time you saw a knob on a piece of equipment?

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I don’t get it.  I’ve become more and more accustomed to letting technology do all my thinking.  TiVo tells me what to watch, Amazon tells me what to read, Twitter streamlines the important “news” of the day, no brain required.  Why can’t some algorithm figure out my vision correction?

I’m begging the folks at Apple to develop an iEye.  If I can see the line forming to buy one, I’ll be right there.

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Nice Sheets. Why Are You Wearing Them?

Posted on June 29, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I don’t know when it happened.  Had it always been like this and I just blocked it out?  Did it happen after she went to prison?  Did someone put trick mirrors in her house?  Martha Stewart has assaulted fashion so violently that I fear the Fashion Police have a warrant out for her arrest.  She may be facing another prison sentence.

I was watching my favorite Bravo host, Andy Cohen, and Martha was his guest for the evening.  It may have been a great show, but I can’t tell you because I was gagging and in shock over Martha’s “outfit.”  There is no English word to describe it; in Yiddish the closest I can get is schmata.

Where do I start?  The color can only be described as dishwater.  The fit?  For all I know a family of 5 is living under that dress-tent.  And then I noticed the shoulders.  Martha seems to have taken her cue from Carol Burnett in her famous Gone With The Wind spoof where she rips down the drapes, rod and all, and drops them over her shoulders.  Maybe she is actually wearing something from her line of bed linens?  This is the schmata of all schmatas.

I wondered-was Martha’s eyesight failing or was this just a serious misstep in the midst of normally acceptable fashion?  Neither.  Based on my extensive research of Bing images, Martha is permanently fashion impaired.  I warn you these images may be disturbing.

I don’t claim to be a fashion maven, but I can assure you that you won’t find gold lamé capris in my closet. So Martha can build a mini-van out of construction paper and hot glue, can sculpt her dogs into topiary, can harvest her own wheat to make her own flour to bake a delightful holiday cake and then milk a cow to make the buttercream frosting, but…she can’t schlep over to Macy’s and buy a decent ensemble?  All those jokes about how she looked in an orange prison uniform—go figure they were her nicest clothes!

Sadly, the nightmare doesn’t end in her closet.  She insists on humiliating her dogs too.

Please call PETA

Please call PETA

She may be Martha Stewart, but she’s far from perfect.  It’s time for a fashion intervention.

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Warm And Fuzzy Greetings!

Posted on June 27, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I have a little book of postcards called Breaking Bad News With Baby Animals.  It is absolutely inspired.  One postcard features an adorable kitten playing with pink, blue and yellow balls of yarn and says “Your baby’s ugly.”  Another has a Dalmation puppy and says “It’s not me, it’s you.”  A picture of two Golden Retriever puppies brings news that “It’s only sunny because there’s a hole in the ozone layer.”  And if you have to hear the news “I’m leaving you for the nanny” why not soften the blow with a picture of two Chocolate Lab puppies frolicking in the grass?

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I love this concept, but why stop at baby animals?  I’m envisioning a whole collection of greeting cards for business and personal use.  For example, picture a card with rainbows and unicorns and a leprechaun saying “Today’s Your Lucky Day!”  On the inside it would say “We’re Inviting You To Find Your Happiness Elsewhere!”  All credit to Disney, a corporation known for never firing anyone, but inviting lots of people to find their happiness elsewhere.  That card would be part of the You’re Canned Variety Pack, which would also include a card that says “Surprise!” on the front, and on the inside a little slot for a pop-up severance check.

The You’re In Big Trouble Variety Pack would include a card with a crying clown on the cover saying “The Party’s Over” and then the inside would say “We Need To Talk.”  And a perennial favorite, a picture of an electronic ankle bracelet with the message “Guess What?” on the front, and on the inside “You’re On Probation!”

For a more subtle message, how about a card with The Thinker on the cover that says “I’ve Been Pondering…” and on the inside “When The Hell I’m Going To Get Your Report!”  The perfect gentle reminder to an employee who missed a deadline.

What we may need most of all is a Mom Stop Worrying Variety Pack.  One card with a pig on the front that says “Mom, Don’t Worry” and on the inside “I’ve Been Eating.”  A card with a burning house on the cover and on the inside “No Worries…I Remembered To Clean The Lint Filter!”  And for the real worrier, a card with a picture on the front of you at work and the inside message “Yes I Have A Good Job.”

Be sure and mail that last one right before you open the greeting card that your boss just sent you.

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Continuing Education: What I Learned Over My Summer Vacation

Posted on June 24, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I have been watching way too many real-life murder mysteries.  There is a series on TLC, Snapped, that focuses in particular on women accused of murder.  After seeing a number of episodes, it is clear that women murder for the same reason men do:  passion, greed and a lethal combination of alcohol and stupidity.

Women murder men for cheating on them, or when they’re in the midst of nasty divorces and especially over child custody arrangements.  Women also murder the women who steal their man, who himself was just an innocent bystander when that heifer seduced him.  Mostly what I’ve learned from Snapped is what idiotic things a person should avoid if she happens to have killed off her lyin’, cheatin’ man or his paramour, and wants to get away with it.

  1. Don’t make out with your lover at your late husband’s funeral; and I shouldn’t have to say this, but no dancing on the grave.
  2. Don’t say that masked men broke into your home and brutally stabbed your husband while leaving you with just a scratch and a bruise.
  3. Don’t get drunk and confide in strangers at bars, or friends who may not love you as much as the reward money being offered for tips leading to an arrest.
  4. Don’t start repeatedly calling the insurance company for pay-off mere hours after the murder.
  5. Trust me, the cops are smarter than you are.  Seriously.  So no set-ups to make it look like someone else did it, and if the victim was shot in the back, don’t play the suicide card.
  6. When leaning over the alleged dead body of your alleged victim, don’t accidentally drop your driver’s license in the blood and then not notice.  And if you do that and get caught, don’t say you would never be stupid enough to do that so it must be someone else trying to set you up.  You are stupid enough, and you know it, because you did it.
  7. Do not immediately burn the carpet in your home and bleach all the floors.  Ditto for the car.
  8. Don’t buy the gun you’re going to use 3 hours before you use it.
  9. Don’t murder your ex the night before you’re supposed to be in court over child custody
  10. Do not shake uncontrollably and cry hysterically unless you’re going to be able to squeeze out a tear or two to go with it.
  11. Do not have a fresh mound of dirt in your backyard and a muddy shovel in your garage.
  12. Wearing your Daisy Dukes and a low cut shirt during interrogation isn’t really going to make this whole thing go away, no matter how hot your think you are.
  13. Don’t assume that clicking “delete” on your computer is going to get rid of the document in which you mapped out every detail of the murder, and then signed it.  Remind yourself that you are a moron.
  14. Do not accidentally leave a body part in the tub.  Yes, even something as small as a baby toe is going to raise questions.
  15. Do not leave a pile of bloody clothes in the washer.

I love educational television.

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