She placed a series of pages near the edge before she placed a smallish box before me, and then another across the table where she took a chair. With the scent of wax on the air, I glanced uncertainly at the telltale marigold and green cardboard, and wondered that Crayola should once again wander into my life.

"We are coloring Halloween pictures today!" proclaimed she. I tried to conceal my grimace. I was encased in my depression at the time, and in no mood to play. Taking pity on her pleading eyes, wide and luminous, I withdrew a crayon.

Sounds of rubbing wax filled the room as we scribbled furiously on clean white pages. At the tumult, we waved our finished works and she pouted, "Yours is better! Mine stinks! Thanks a lot!" I huffed in frustration...what did the twerp want from me? This was her idea in the first place...what was I supposed to do?—draw a sucky picture?

No, I wasn't. You've got to nip these things. It will be important for her to know that life isn't a competition, it's about doing the best you can with the ability that you've got. I sat her down and smoothed her brow as I said, "Momma, grow up."

These women are gathered together at another woman's house, and there's this huge cake, right? It's covered with a thick mass of chocolate frosting, and your mouth begins to salivate at the sight, even through the medium of the TV.

Then, one of the other women approached the cake and said, "Wow, how many cans of frosting did you use for that cake?" It was advertising Duncan Hines' new larger containers of frosting.

Well, I found it completely unbelievable—not that just one of those mega containers of frosting could cover the entire cake so decadently, but that any woman would take the time to admire that cake during a time when her head could be lowered to cake-level, licking.

I guess it was about a month ago that I ordered my first unitard. I know you're all wondering how on Earth I managed to live without this touchy-feely garment all these years...well, it wasn't easy, I'll tell you that much. I knew that during my week vacationing in Boulder Junction, known to Miles as "Deprivation with a North Woods Twist", I would be delving heavily into yoga. I knew that the mornings would be chilly, but there is nothing that keeps a mind and a body more at odds with each another than baggy clothing during an asana!

A long sleeved unitard seemed my only option: an all-over insulation that didn't restrict movement or irritate sensibilities. Fortunately, I soothed myself, I would be up well before the rest of my cabin mates, through with my ashtanga practice, shower, and at least half of a pot of coffee before I had company. The likelihood of being caught tucked into the body sock was severely reduced, but I knew it to be inevitable that I would be caught eventually. If not on vacation, then at home. If not during yoga, then when I while I am eating chocolate cake.

So, the search became less of, "Can I find one with a built-in physique?" and more of, "Does it come in camouflage?" My college roommate had a pair of camouflage underwear. She always used to tell us that she wore them so her butt wouldn't look big. I think she had something there. However, and this may come as a shock as it certainly did for me, dance studios don't routinely stock camouflaged unitards!

I had three color options: white, nude, and black. Obviously, I purchased the black.

It wasn't much of a debate, but I did give each color a forum to address why she should be chosen. The white, while calling for world peace and the betterment of mankind's treatment of the rain forests, also mentioned that she tends to make her subjects appear larger than life. Rain forests, peace, blah blah blah...larger? You are the weakest link! Goodbye!

The exotic nude stepped to the podium and tried to sway the judges with deliciously naughty suggestions. She was in favor of saving the sheep from the humiliation of being shaved, outlawing cotton, and dressing ourselves in naught but our birthday suits morning after morning. "Why, think of the money we'd save on clothing!" she called out. She had a point, and I've always felt bad for the sheep. But, let's face it. Cloaked in a nude unitard, who would resist the double take? I'm sorry, but if I'm worried about the first glance, why would I wear something asking for the second, hmm?

The little black number took stage last, and while she seemed surly and abrasive, she had a sort of charm to her. I know "charm" sounds impossible with her calling for the continuance of night throughout the day and death of all who would giggle, but she boasted belittlement of the body she coated. I chose to ignore the true definition of belittlement as I imagined myself donning the unitard and becoming the size of a pushpin. Who takes a second look at a pushpin? Plus, the black probably won't show stains from that chocolate cake.

We now have a dry erase board on the refrigerator. We tend to leave each other little messages. Things like, "Have a nice day!", "Car keys are on the table", "You've got a really big, green sleepy-seed goober in your eye", and "Little orange cat is gonna die." It reminds me of my golden days of high school...but only with two premenopausal women and a husband.

We had a white board, as I call it, a grease board, as Brenda calls it, before. It is the run-of-the-mill deal that drugstore.com sends you with your first purchase. I received mine back in 2001. I found it so much easier to buy wart remover without having to look anybody in the eye. I assume Brenda's is of similar age. In any event, I think "dry erase board" would be a misnomer for that pathetic slab of laminated paper, which required the shoulder stamina of 40 Cleopatra-age rowing Egyptians to erase a message dry. I, having only the shoulder stamina of a scant 20 Cleopatra-age rowing Egyptians, often found myself discouraged.

Last night, I wrote on the new board, "And how much do I love the new board? THIS much!" Note the underline...I put it there to draw your attention to the enormity of "how much"...much like this sentence. How sly am I!?

As I chatted with my aunts while they readied for work, I admitted, "And I love that I can nuzzle it with my nose and....IT ERASES!" Yes, I regularly use conjunctions to start a sentence. It's how my mind works, see. I never really complete a thought, because I know more will come to me later...thus the use of conjunction. Oh, and you know what?—it's perfectly legal to do so. Please ignore the part where they say to use it sparingly, though.

Debbie rolled her eyes at my comment and said, "I don't wanna know..." hinting at something naughty, no doubt. Brenda indulged me and lowered the white board to a mere 3 feet—as if my nose only rose that far from the ground! I know she thinks herself high and mighty at a towering 5'4"...but I've lived with 6'2" long enough that she's not nearly so awe-inspiring in her heels.

So take that, Princess.