After the head fell off the doll, and the toaster (invented in 1893 in Britain) quit popping, and the sweater snagged, someone started (in the early 1900s) calling women who weren’t virgins “damaged goods.”
The other day, a close family relative of mine (or at least I think of her as close) came to visit. I hadn’t seen her in a year and a half. She and her 3-year-old were only in town for five days.
After several years in a toxic union, one New Zealand woman sent the remains of her marriage vows into the next frontier.
No, literally. Rebecca Gibbs built a rocket, loaded her wedding ring into it, and shot that sucker right into space.
"It was uplifting, liberating, and it was really supposed to be a positive step, which it was," she told New Zealand online publication Stuff.co.nz. "It was also a lot of fun blasting a rocket into the sky."
“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.” - George Orwell
Your heart palpitates, eyes dilate, cheeks flush, palms sweat. Do you have dengue fever or are you in love? Most of us have experienced the giddy whirl of romance. This heady part of love is biological and lasts about 1 ½ years. And then?
Every other weekend, one night a week, summer vacation, alternating holidays... does this sound familiar? Welcome to the language of custody arrangements.
I initially published a version of this post back in January, but in light of Judy Blume’s announcement of her battle with breast cancer, I thought it was a nice shout to the woman who taught me about sex. Sort of. Enjoy.
