I started my evening by moving the living room furniture, pulling up the area rug, and steam mopping under it all. Why? Because my house is on the market and hasn't sold in the month that we have had it listed. The only plausible reason I can come up with for the lack of buyers is that they can see the dirt under my living room rug when they walk through the house. Uh huh, that's what I said. Crazy, you say? Absolutely. That's what happens when your husband leaves you home alone for a week with a toddler. It's very sad. By the time I pick Tortoise up from the airport on Saturday, there is a good chance I will be reduced to a blubbering, slobber- covered matron who can barely remember her own name. In fact, Tortoise will be lucky indeed if I even remember to make it to the airport to get him.

So, while I was cleaning, I watched part of the Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood on TV. That started me wondering why women (and chick- flick producing men) feel the need to create silly clubs with rights of passages and silly hats in order to have girlfriends and a good time. Why can't we just be normal, dress normal, and call one another by normal names? There is a new movie coming out called the Sisterhood of Traveling Pants or something like that, and it looks about the same. Good friends, blah blah, significant piece of clothing, blah blah, boy trouble, blah blah, girls triumph through sticking together and realizing that men are scum destined to ruin their lives, blah blah blah.

I can only assume the answer to my questions is that the general viewing public likes hats, rituals, and predictable story lines. Not that I don't like a good chick- flick too, I just wonder why they appeal to us. I guess I will go don my cardboard crown (to which I have added glitter, glued on M&Ms, and some dripping Mardi Gras beads), rename myself Princess Clean Floors, and call a meeting of the Secret Society of Chocoholic Coffee Drinkers to discuss.