“Taffeta, Darling!”

“Young Frankenstein” is one of my guilty pleasures. I like everything about it except for the part where Dr. Frahn-ken-shteen takes the Lord’s name in vain. That part makes me cringe, and I really need to send my geriatric VHS tape to one of those editing companies to have it edited out, or get a new copy on DVD and invest in the filtering gadget which removes F-bombs and other nasty stuff. [Park this paragraph off to the side somewhere; we’ll come back to it.]

NintendoMan and I have had some interesting conversations. The topics are broad, and sometimes we pursue a thought until we have worn it to a raveling. This is all part of the getting-to-know you process. Thirty-five years ago, if I had dated a man as long as I have dated him (which in the eternal scheme of things is not very long, and really, outside my safe and comfortable LDS world is still not very long) and the man had not proposed, said man would be sitting on the curb with the imprint of my foot on his rump. I am delighted and amazed to declare that I have no inclination so to do.

I am discovering the pleasures of taking life slowly. Thus far, neither of us has scared the other one away. This bodes well. We have yet to have a fight. [He says he has already figured out a couple of my hot-buttons. I asked him what they were, and he smiled and said, “Have I pushed them? No, I have not.”]

No, he has not. And he takes particular pleasure in pushing some people’s buttons. I think he must like me, or something. It’s certainly not my cooking. After the leather-omelette episode, I grinned fetchingly and told him that he could be in charge of the eggs from now on. (Let the record show that he was very kind in conveying that he liked his eggs somewhat less al dente, *and* he cleaned his plate. I did point out the sign on the wall which warns that I kiss better than I cook.)



He says that he probably cooks better than he kisses, in which case all hope of regaining my waistline, is toast. [With poached eggs. And Hollandaise. And strawberries dipped in chocolate, on the side.]

Things I did at work, because I was bored. It was a legal holiday, thus only Saturday’s mail to deal with, plus any faxes which straggled in. I went through my “sent” items and deleted everything that was not case-related, then saved the case-related emails to their proper folders. And then I went ripping through my inbox and did the same thing. I printed off roughly two dozen color photos for one of our cases, which ensured that I got plenty of exercise walking back and forth from my desk to the printer in the library to pull the prints and lay them out to finish drying flat.

I ate a small bag of baked potato chips. And a stick of string cheese. And a clementine. And a big juicy apple, dipped in caramel sauce. And my leftover veggies from last week. And a spoonful of natural peanut butter with my lunch, just in case I hadn’t already gotten enough protein. (Note to self: natural peanut butter, on something or with something, and washed down with plenty of milk, is a good thing. Natural peanut butter in a spoon : Nutella in a spoon :: buffalo chips : potato chips.)

BTW, yesterday was my 1,000th post. I should probably have a contest, or something. Winner gets to send me a year’s supply of dark chocolate. [Oh, that’s not the way it works?]

OK, back to “Young Frankenstein”. I am slowly coming to the realization that much of my life has been spent in “taffeta, darling” mode. Remember when you first see Madeline Kahn’s character, and you just want to tell her, “Oh honey, lighten up!”? I can’t really see myself channeling her post-tryst-with-Creature persona, with the Bride of Frankenstein hair and testing for steam on her hip. But laughing all the way up from my toes with NintendoMan is persuading me that there are many ways to be a righteous woman that fit comfortably between those two extremes. And maybe I really haven’t been having all the fun the commandments allow? And maybe there is room for even more fun in my life?

What a concept.