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Month: December 2012

Don't Bogart Christmas

Most Californians don’t know from snow. We have no idea what it’s like to shovel a driveway, or awake to white-blanketed landscapes, or bundle up and stroll through frosty flurries (See? Frosty flurries — are those even a thing?). But we sing about it all just the same. Come December, we croon about sleigh bells and winter wonderlands and glistening treetops with all the enthusiasm of people who know what the flake they’re warbling about.

What I love best about this lyrical-geographical incongruity is that no one seems to care. People in nippy climes don’t ask us West Coasters to pipe down and stop singing about something we don’t — and frankly can’t — fully appreciate.

“Hey!” they don’t say. “Quit your convivial yodeling, and do some personal precipitation research!” It matters not to folks in icy Buffalo, New York, or glacial Grand Rapids, Michigan, whether our musical merriment is based in experience or willful ignorance. Whatever jingles your bells, man!

Why then — and you knew I was going somewhere with this, right? — should sourpuss religious zealots give a holly heck how the rest of us celebrate Christmas?

Sex Won't Induce Labor (Even If Your Husband Says So)

She is an eruption waiting to happen, a burst woman walking. Her mass is so unmanageable, her sleep so uncomfortable, her bladder so irrepressible that she’d do just about anything to purge the stubborn little gestater.

It’s then — right then, when she is close to weeping at her wretched inability to draw a deep breath or pick up items she drops from her swollen piggy fingers — that her husband tells her, “You know, I might be able to help.” It seems a gal at work told him or he saw it in a movie once or he read it in the baby book and, er, he can’t remember which page, but anyway — some rockin’ sex might be just what the missus needs.

You can’t blame the guy for trying. And perhaps he’s even a little confused. Because back when they were in the delightful “trying to conceive” part of this pregnancy, he was lauded for his willingness (oh, he’s a giver) to drop trou for the cause. His heroic hay-rolling started this pregnancy, dammit, and there’s no reason (other than, you know, biology and basic logic) to think his Magic Mike-style moves can’t end it, too. Maybe it would make her feel better, and maybe it wouldn’t; he’s fairly sure it’d do wonders for him.

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