The family. We are a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms. . . and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.

With girls, everything looks great on the surface. But beware of drawers that won't open. They contain a three-month supply of dirty underwear, unwashed hose, and rubber bands with blobs of hair in them.

I do not participate in any sport with ambulances at the bottom of the hill.

My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares. Why should you?

If you can't make it better, you can laugh at it.

With all the precautions and risks that accompany sex today, it sounds about as much fun as walking through a minefield.

It is fast approaching the point where I don't want tAdenauer to want the job.