From the beginning, it was clear that there were more than 15 items in her basket, more, even than 20. I know this because I obsessively counted them while I put my own items on the conveyer belt, which was difficult to do because she was hogging the whole thing with her canned tuna fish, her iceberg lettuce, and her generic spaghetti sauce. 

If a gentleman places his hand on your knee under the table at a dinner party with the intention of signaling you to shut up, stab him immediately in the eye with a fork (salad fork, place fork, oyster fork or dessert fork are equally apropos).  Use sufficient force to penetrate the meniscus. If eyeball juice squirts onto your food, discreetly push your plate to the side and wave the server over to replace your tainted victuals. 

Like the fountain of youth many have sought the perfect band name, but all have fallen short. However, let us honor now the seven bands that have fallen the LEAST short, and examine how they could have achieved perfection.

I am a connoisseur of Diet Coke. A gourmand. A maven. Even a snob. My palate is supremely refined. What a sommelier is to wine, what a nose is to perfume, I am to Diet Coke. I drink it every day. All day. Some days it’s the only beverage I drink. Diet Coke is my wake up call, my “Hello world,” my “I’m ready to interact on a sentient level.” I drink Diet Coke with burgers, with pasta, with salad, with pancakes and eggs, with bagels and lox, with croissants and scones. I don’t drink it with cereal, but I don’t eat cereal.

Your child’s mind is her most valuable resource, and until she is old enough to become a gestational surrogate, that won’t change. But school cutbacks are a fact of life now, and though you didn’t sign up for it, you need to be prepared for the responsibility of having to teach your kid stuff.