I was watching TV last night when, suddenly, my shoulder and upper arm began to tingle and erupted in gooseflesh. It was so startling that I jumped a little. Did something just brush up against me? Some sort of crazy energy field? (We have those in California.) A ghost? Or perhaps the bony, beckoning finger of Death?

The isolated patch of goosebumps continued to prickle, and the bumps were extreme. “Look at this!” I said to Bryan. He examined my arm and murmured in appropriately confused tones.

Then I remembered I had eaten a single pretzel a few minutes earlier. Turns out they were coated in some sort of yeast powder. I tried another one an hour or so later, and the isolated goosebumps resumed.

So, it wasn’t so much an ectoplasmic energy transfer from the netherworld. It was a pretzel.

But! You may be saying, “Maggie? What if it was a magic pretzel that gave you psychic powers?” And that’s an excellent point. I’ll keep you posted.

Did you know it was possible to get blisters from a support garment? Like, long, water-filled girdle blisters across your back? The kind where you wake up, and something on your back itches, so you go to scratch it, and your hand comes away wet? Did you know this?

Yeah. Me neither.

For the sake of efficiency I’ve removed all the fortunes, tiny scraps of artwork, receipts for indecent things, currency from other countries, cowboy business cards, pretty leaves, and notes to myself to help me remember all the important things I no longer remember. And now, my wallet is tiny.

I feel less interesting.

Alice and I talk business:

Alice: I think it’s adorable that you want some money for yourself. Maybe you want to buy yourself a special little treat without the Hubs knowing, and why shouldn’t you? Bravo, Mrs. Mason.

Me: Sometimes, when I’m feeling low, I just like to get myself a nice lipstick. Nothing pricey, just a little pick me up.

Alice: What? Whore.

Working in the coffee shop under a potted palm, I pause to brush the hair from my eyes. A dead bug falls onto my keyboard.

I gasp loudly, and yank my laptop up, inches away from my face, to examine the specimen more closely. Praises to all that is holy, it has wings, unlike the lice we too recently battled in our home.

But, may I just say, what the ever-loving hell, people? Did someone put Purina Bug Chow in my shampoo? I could go a very, very long time without finding another surprise insect on my premises.