This figure skater totally looks like me—or at least I thought she did last night:



It was freaky. She might look more like me here. She didn’t do so well, but she’s 29, which is geriatric for an Olympic skater...

And in case you haven’t heard, my mother called Saturday night to say she was having “minor surgery” on Monday morning. Apparently a radical hysterectomy is “minor surgery” in my mother’s addled brain. She’s doing fine, but I was pretty anxious about the whole thing--not leastly because I was told (and am still being told) not to come down, and because my father didn’t call me about the outcome of the surgery until seven-thirty at night, almost eight hours after he found out. They don’t want me to worry, but how could I not, the way they’re acting? Parents!

Mark has to go have cocktails with Arthur Sulzberger tonight (the NYT bigwigs are visiting the paper, for the first time in five years), so he will be in Wilm. and I will be alone tonight. I’m thinking Donnie Darko DVD, perhaps some low-carb ice cream? We’ll see what happens.