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An update for everyone (thanks for being so concerned! love you guys!): Independence Day was not only a day of celebrating the freedom and rights we enjoy as a country. It was also the day my bowels released petrified poop. Yes, I pooped! Twice! It only hurt a little! Freedom = achieved.

I have an unexplainable loathing for seersucker. I don't know if there was a time in my life that I haven't hated that material, but everything about it elicits a violent dislike for it. The bunched up threads, the awful pinstriping... maybe it's the fact that it's supposed to be wrinkly and crinkly that makes me want to rip it to shreds. Even more disturbing than the fabric itself is who I either see wearing it or envision wearing such a thing. I hate it on girls as well as boys, but the fact that it is apparently an acceptable and common material for men's suiting in the South elicits violent reactions from myself. I throw up a little in my mouth every time I see a man in a seersucker suit, who presumably would be more at home on a plantation, sucking down disgusting mint juleps and being the perfect Southern momma's boy with the accent of Foghorn Leghorn than watching a football game with the guys and a few brews. Poor little children are also subjected to seersucker, to which I can only imagine the nightmare of them growing up in the image of Colonel Sanders. Seriously, people, stop the demasculation. Mommas, don't let your sons grow up to look like douchebags. How can you take anyone seriously wearing something like this?

Or not. I haven't pooped in 5 days. I eat a well-balanced diet (um... well, at least lately), have been taking fiber supplements daily, and I still got nada. No rumblings, no fake-outs, no cramps... nothing. I'm kinda scared at this point. UPDATE

The NYT's Style section had an article stating that more couples are facing strife and ending their relationships by the third year rather than the proverbial seven-year mark. Interesting, considering my last serious relationship ended almost exactly three years to the date, and my divorce occurred a month or two after my three-year wedding anniversary.