Before I get started with what's on my mind today, I just wanna set the record straight about yesterday's post: I was speaking only for myself, not on behalf of all chick lit writers. And, if you'd like to read another great essay on the subject, go here to see how author Rachel Pine characterizes the issue in her own words.

Okay, now that I got that out of the way...guess where I'm going this weekend? My 35th high school reunion!!! Eeeeeek! Thankfully, it's a casual affair (so casual, I hadn't even thought of it as a reunion per se--hence, I haven't even stressed about what I'll wear or how thin/fat/poochy/saggy/pale I am/am not/should be/could be).

I'm thinking of taking along paper and pencil to jot down a hash mark for each time I get asked that fatal question how come you never got married? (And if y'all have pithy suggestions, please leave 'em in the comment section--muchas gracias.)

I mean, I could go with the standard never met the right man....but that's so lame and probably untrue.

Then there's the one where I slap my forehead and say Shit! I knew I forgot something but I'm kinda tired of that one.

Personally, my favorite is: "Guess I was trying to avoid two divorces, fourteen stepchildren, and a totally dysfunctional family" like yours. Okay, I've never said that to anyone. But I could've.

Oops. Cutting the blog short. Work calls.