Do you understand those people who keep colonies of stuffed animals in the rear windows of their cars? Do they hope that other motorists will see the collection and be impressed by their obvious appreciation of cute cuddliness? At night, aren’t they concerned that the especially cute, cuddly ones will come to life and wriggle their way into the front seat to lie in wait for their return?

I passed a strip joint this morning with a sign that read, See the beauty, touch the magic. It strikes me that guys who’ve been watching naked women grind for a few hours are going to want to touch a lot more than the magic.

For the past several months, I’ve been ending telephone conversations with bye-ya. I know it’s hideous; I’m powerless to stop. It makes me sound like the woman who waits outside before the craft store opens, the woman who relates interesting stories she heard on Oprah, the woman who knows how to bake an excellent bundt cake.

The thing is, I am that woman. I’m going to get married, have a few kids, find a cat, bake a few too many tasty cakes, and die fat. And it all starts with bye-ya, folks.

Time to start writing that book.

This girl is waiting for the bus with her friend. She has day-glo pink hair and is wearing jeans ripped off at the knees over a pair of black and white-striped tights. She has a small safety pin through her left nostril. She is practicing what can only be a cheerleading routine.