I feel I should tell you the following story to save you some strife/embarrassment/pride issues for the future.

Or maybe I’m the only one who attracts demoralizing activities like a moth to a flame.

And then blogs about them.

First, there was the treadmill.

Then there was announcing the treadmill situation to a room full of 800 strangers.

Then there were the Brazilians.

Now there’s the spray tan.

Now I’ve had a spray tan before, you get naked, spread some lotion on the rough parts, put a net on your hair and strike a series of Egyptian poses in a booth with a bunch of spray guns aimed at your bare pale flesh.

This last weekend I figured, “Hey! I’d like to buy myself a tan!” So I found a local joint in my new town, exfoliated and set out.

When she led me back to the room I went over the checklist in my head.

Lock on the door? Check.

Hairnet? Check.

DHA smell? Check.

Lotion…no…hmm.

Booth…check…wait….no sprayers…NO SPRAYERS IN THE BOOTH.

no check….NO CHECK!!!

Just then the nice lady informed me that I was to strip down to my underpants, position myself just so in the sprayerless booth, knock on the wall and she’d come back in.

SHE’D COME BACK IN.

SHE WAS THE SPRAYER.

HER. WITH EYEBALLS.

My face drained of color and was then replaced with a pink flush.

“Um, so, I feel like I should introduce myself since we’re about to, well, you’re about to see me really naked. Hi. I’m Casey, I like to take pictures, I have a few tattoos. I like cats more than dogs. I used to be fat!”

She was even more embarrassed that I had no idea that she was going to be the one doing the work.

I never even found out her name.

Didn’t hear about day one? Well, it was thrilling, check it out here.

Cody and I weren’t ever sure if the beds at the W were comfortable. We were so tired we didn’t have time to notice, meaning New York hotels could make you sleep on box springs and you wouldn’t even notice because you’re so busy trying to remember what it’s like to be bored.

We set out on a private tour of the city in the morning with the other bloggers involved with the Vivienne Tam HP campaign, to say it wasn’t awkward at first would be a lie, we were all from different parts of the nation and we all had such different areas of focus in our blogs it was hard to do the “pick of where you left off on your blog blogger meet and greet.” Thankfully lunch came and one thing we could all agree on besides how lucky we were to be there was that bacon is awesome.

Somehow the topic of bacon vodka came up. Sierra, a tech blogger from Oregon, said she had found the recipe online and given that she hosted Baconfest in her home town and knew an apple wood smoked piece of fried pork from a hickory smoked slice, I dare say she was the perfect candidate for bacon vodka. She even labeled it “Styy Vodka” and gave it out to her friends. Apparently it’s lovely if you lick mayo off your hand, shoot the vodka and follow it with a tomato.

Retch or salivate at will, there was mixed emotions at lunch too.

Speaking of retching. It is New York law that calorie contents be included in menus.

Maybe it’s just me but when I go out to eat I enjoy staying blissfully ignorant to what I’m stuffing my face full of. However when you’re in the mood for a cheeseburger and it’s in giant black type that said cheeseburger with fries contains over 1,800 calories? French onion soup with no cheese begins looking really tasty.

There should be no fat people in New York with this law. But don’t do it in Indiana, I like being ignorant out here.

On our tour we stopped of in Chinatown (Canal Street) which borders Little Italy.

Little Italy smells really, really good. As if the streets were paved with garlic. Outside handsome men with Italian accents beg you to dine on their pomodoro, nosh on their lasagna, I could get used to Little Italy (as long as there’s no calorie counts on the menus.)

We stopped at a place promising us the “PLANET EARTH’S BEST CANNOLI” when truly all we were in search of was a clean potty. I have never had a cannoli by which to judge planet Earth’s best cannoli, but if it truly was the best cannoli on the planet?

I do not like cannoli.

One block away we started the trek down Canal (Chinatown) back to our tour bus.

Chinatown does not smell as good as Little Italy.

Our tour guide had told us about the “underground handbag business” on Canal Street and promised us that while we wouldn’t get hurt, we would definitely come home with a unique experience. A young Chinese girl on a street corner whispered “Coach? Handbag? Miss?” to me as I walked by, I smiled and told her “No thank you.”

Cody had different ideas.

“I want to see one of these places!” so being the dumb tourists, we continued down the street hoping for any whispers of “Handbag?” Sure enough we were approached, and let me tell you, just like in a Borne movie, you realize EVERY SINGLE PERSON AROUND YOU is in on the scheme, all sorts of handbag schleppers came from no where. We walked back down the street ten feet behind until we were ushered into a secret store and taken behind a fake sliding wall to a room full of fake fake fake. A Prado (have you seen Serendipity?) caught my eye and the girl said “Thirty.” Cody quickly came back with “TEN!” and was laughed at. We made it out without a handbag but with a whole new respect for Chinatown and those willing to go to such lengths to have a fake bag.

Our tour then stopped at the 9/11 memorial. I dedicated an entire post to that here…nothing more needs to be said.

When we got back to our hotel I had a couple of hours to get ready for our first event at the Vivienne Tam boutique. Now this is where I tell you about the major freak out I had before leaving over WHAT TO WEAR TO A FASHION EVENT DURING FASHION WEEK IN NEW YORK. I played it safe and went LBD (little black dress.) with a kicky clutch (Metalia informed me that BIG BAGS at evening events are what make the out of towners really obvious. Aside from the look of fear on their face of course.)

Photo by Beth

The night was filled with champagne (water for me), milling about Vivienne’s Fall ‘09 collection and people watching.

“Is that Prada?” asked a gay man wearing a cape.

*SPIT TAKE*

“Honey, I’m from the Midwest, this is Ann Taylor summer of ‘07 clearance rack for $24.”

He leaned in close and said “I’m from Michigan, my pants were $20 and my shoes were $500. Just say it’s Prada, they totally did this whole lace thing last season, no one will know.”

After the party we were whisked away to dinner at a Brazilian Steakhouse. Or as I like to call it “BaconLove Part II.” A man with a deep southern accent seated to the right of me proclaimed “BAC’N! Y’all wrap yuh Teh-kee in BAYCUN? I could git used to ‘dis.”

I really think I disappointed the waiter when I insisted on only water.

“You like red wine better?”

“No, thank you, water’s fine.”

“We have a full bar! Maybe a cocktail?”

“No, really, water’s fine.”

“You’re sure no white wine? I’m taking your wine glass if you don’t want wine.” (Said like a threat.)

“Go ahead, really, I’m fine with water.”

I’ll spare you the details of when I politely refused coffee and a dessert wine after dinner.

We walked back to the hotel after dinner, my feet swearing at me in seven different languages they had learned on Canal Street earlier that day. Little did they know what they were in for the next day.

To be continued…

I know there’s a lot of you who read this stuff. Big people, little people, people who swear, old people, young people, church people, drunk people, dog people, cat people, important people, even people who don’t stop and say hi when they see me in Costco. (I’m looking at you Jenn.)

I’m never really embarrassed knowing that you know what you know about me.

And trust me, I should be embarrassed.

I recently had an article published in a real! live! magazine! where the journalist got the age of the moosh wrong but BOY HOWDY! did he get the orgasm on the treadmill part right. Oh well. (I did keep it from the tender judgemental eyes of my grandparents however.)

Shortly after my Brazilian experience the moosh announced to my step dad “HEY GUESS WHAT GRAMPA POOPSIE? ALL MY MOM’S HAIR FELL OUT OF HER BUM!”

Unfortunately I am not immune to real live embarrassment at the mercy of a three year old.

Another time the moosh asked my MIL about her panties (because panties are always a topic of discussion with the moosh around.) My MIL told her that she wore the same white panties as I do.

the moosh then proceeded to tell my MIL and FIL that “MY MOM HAS PINK POLKA DOT PANTIES WITH A WHITE PUPPY ON THEM. SHE WEARS THEM A LOT.”

OY.

I think while I’m here in Utah I’ll check in on the hospital where the moosh was born to see if my pride is in the lost and found.

• Does it hurt?

Yes. Having hundreds of hairs ripped out by their roots all at once with hot wax? Yes. It hurts. But there is a reason I have done this twice. It hurts, but it is worth the pain. The pain is quick! and temporary (assuming your waxer knows what she’s doing.) The results are long lasting and (insert any choice of inappropriate innuendo type adjective here.)

• Rate your pain in relation to childbirth.

No where near childbirth because you don’t leave stitched up and swollen with a side of hemorrhoids. You leave slightly tender with a spring in your step. I’m not kidding when I say your clothes fit better. But do try to avoid doing it the week before your period, it actually does hurt more then. (P.S. I actually enjoyed giving birth if that says anything. If they sold epidurals on the street I would buy one for all of my friends.)

• What about when it grows back?

Did you ever shave your mono-brow in Jr. High like I did? Remember when it grew back in two days later thicker than your dad’s whiskers and then someone took pity enough on you to teach you how to tweeze? (Thanks sissy.) They take a really long time to grow back, and when they do they’re lighter and not as course because that little hair follicle had to start from the very beginning in order to pop back between your eyes. Same goes for curlies. When you have the little buggers yanked out by the root all at once those little follicles have to start all over again. Instead of blunt cutting your hair like a razor does (read, itch), waxing starts the process of hair growing all over again, therefore, no itch. (for me at least, maybe you’re an itchier person than I am.)

• How long does it last?

Long enough that you forget what it’s like to have a bushel full of hair. Since hair grows in cycles, after your first wax it’s suggested you go back after 4-6 weeks to have the second string of hairs submit to the mercy of the wax. After your second time around you can go eight weeks without fearing a bathing suit. (Also, hair grows slower in the winter.) The Naked Monkey will tell you “do it twice and you’ll be sold.”

• If you had the means to maintain it constantly, would you?

Yes. And I’d pay for all of my friends to maintain it constantly too. It just feels cleaner, your clothes fit better and um, yes, the whole making out part is quite lovely, on both accounts. Hooray for monogamy!

• Isn’t a hairless (or nearly hairless) monkey kind of like admitting you want to have s@% with a prepubescent girl?

Valid question. But not so much in my opinion. No part an average woman’s body resembles that of a prepubescent girl. We have hips, we have curves, we have boobs. Last time I checked most every woman I know could out curve a prepubescent girl without any effort.

• How much does your husband love it?

He’d love to answer you but he’s too busy blushing.

• How many times do you get “ripped” before it’s over?

There’s probably about five big mama rips that will cause you to gasp and make a “WHOO HOO HOO” type sound. The whole process takes about 20-30 minutes with maybe only a minute consisting of actual ripping. I actually think that the tweezing of the strays hurts more (BTW, they tweeze the strays.)

• Do they apply and “after waxing” cream/gel to cool things down?

Before I forget, wear loose pants to your appointment. Loose undies too, maybe borrow your husband’s boxers. Just sayin’. Yes, they’ll clean you of stray bits of wax, close your pores with a cooling spray and slather you up with an ingrown hair treatment. (The Naked Monkey uses Oprah’s obsession, Prince Reigns. (which I think is a really dumb name) Apparently for those prone to ingrowns it is a miracle. Tend Skin is another popular after wax goo.) If you are prone to ingrowns spend the extra money on an ingrown treatment, because zitty red whiteheady ingrowns down there? You looked better hairy.

• Do you get all gussied up prior to the wax? Like cleaning before the cleaning lady comes over, so she doesn’t think you’re a slob?

Do a courtesy trim if you’re worried. But you will need about two weeks worth of hair growth for it to come out well. Shower as close to your appointment as possible and carry around a personal wipe if you’re really worried (You will generally be provided with one.) You don’t have to do any of this stuff, but I’m guessing it’s appreciated by the waxer, and if it calms your fears, wash away. I’d like to think the waxer takes the amount of hair you have as a personal challenge. Or not. Whatever.

• Someone was telling me that using hard wax instead of using regular wax+strips is way less painful. Which do you use?

I don’t use either, I pay for someone else to use them on me. Heh. I’ve only had the wax and strips on the outer areas and the hard wax in the crannies. I prefer the hard because it doesn’t stick to your skin, just your hair. I think the strips are kind of stingy personally.

• What’s the difference between a bikini and a Brazilian?

If I called you to go to the beach with me right now a bikini would be the maintenance you would do in order to wear your bathing suit without fear of escapees. Basically your inner thighs and outside pelvic area. A Brazilian is butt bare naked in and out, front and back. You can also leave a “landing strip” if you’d like, a little patch of hair just to remind you what used to be there.

• How awkward is it?

Repeat after me, “The person who is about to do this to me does this for a living. If she thought the idea of waxing stranger’s lady parts was disgusting and offensive she would find a different line of work. She sees dozens of these a week.” Okay? But yes. WAAY awkward. You will be given a towel for your own benefit but it won’t be on you hardly at all. But they are just doing their job. So chat it up about movies, local restaurants, celebrity gossip. Because I can promise you it will be way more weird with silence. Thankfully there is also a code of ethics if you will amongst waxers, they will not discuss you, your parts or what you’ve had done to anyone. Not even your best friend. If you never tell anyone what you had done, you can be assured no one will ever know. The first waxer I had said she never even mentioned the fact that she did Brazilians because people are so ignorant about it. Amen.

• What’s the healing time on that? Follicular torture and salt water? Not so much with the happy happy.

It will be strictly look only for 24 hours. And it will look bad. You’ll wonder why the heck you did that to yourself. There may even be blood. After 24 hours it will still be tender, but don’t neglect the exfoliation, otherwise you’ll have a whole new problem on your hands. Keep it clean, keep your drawers loose and BRING IT ON after about 48-72 hours. Not a worry until your next appointment (as long as you keep up with the exfoliation.) You’ll find yourself sitting in positions in your bathing suit you never thought possible.

• Do they really wax your butt crack?

Yes. If you want them to. At The Naked Monkey they call it your “baboon.” (har!) I say go for it. You’ve made it this far, why go home with hair? You’ll either be asked to hold your leg up by your head or told to flip around on all fours. One yank and your baboon is done.

*******

So there you go. How many of you are calling to make your appointment now? You should be. The main reason for doing doesn’t even have to be se*ual (take that google search.) It can be as simple as you spend your summer by the pool or are going on a week long tropical vacation and don’t want to be bothered with upkeep and itch. It can also be done simply because you don’t like the stuff down there. Dr. Oz said the main reason to have hair down there is to serve as a nest for your pheromones. Pardon me but that’s kind of icky, personally.

Does anybody else love places that specialize in one thing? I DO! I DO! I love knowing you’re going into a place where they do one thing because they do that one thing well. Think In-N-Out burger in California. You can have a hamburger or a cheeseburger. The end. Not a hamburger or maybe a breakfast sandwich with syrup touching your eggs with a side of fish, a salad and a choice of thirty seven beverages and eighteen prepackaged desserts that taste like cardboard to choose from. Mmmm.

I know I’ve told you about my favorite cupcake restaurant here in Indy. The Flying Cupcake. Remember? So cute. So many calories. So worth it.

Next is the bookstore right next door to The Flying Cupcake. It’s a children’s bookstore. It is a dream come true. You know the Shop Around the Corner in You’ve Got Mail? Kid’s Ink bookstore on 56th & Illinois. Down to every last detail.

Longs Bakery in Indianapolis. Banbury Cross in Salt Lake. Doughnuts. OH MY HOLEY DOUGHNUTS. When at Banbury Cross get the white cake doughnut with white icing and rainbow sprinkles. They have to be rainbow. This is the only thing I ever craved to the point of hysterics while pregnant if that says anything. Longs Bakery? Carmel Iced cream filled. You Westerners are missing out on our Midwestern cream filling. I’d consider staying just for the cream filling if that says anything.

Shade clothing. Every shirt is long. So long that your muffin won’t hang out. Ever. Heaven bless you Shade.

Five Guys Burgers and Fries. See In-N-Out, only for the rest of the United States.

Abbott’s Frozen Custard (mostly a western New York thing.) I can only hope that all the faucets in Heaven pour out Abbott’s Frozen Custard. Indy has Ritter’s Custard and Salt Lake has Nielsen’s, but Abbott’s? Worth the trip to upstate New York. Seriously. Click the link, I DARE YOU NOT TO SALIVATE. (And for those of you who had never had custard? Please, come stay at my house. There’s two custard joints within a few miles.)

Huh, anyone noticing the trend of junk food loves I have? Anyone know of a place that makes really rockin’ carrot sticks?

Lucky Baby Slings. Did you know I was a fanatical sling mom? I am. I have two from Lucky Baby and have been known to borrow babies on a regular basis just to carry around a little squishy baby like a marsupial.

This brings me to my latest discovery. The Naked Monkey. They do wax. I’m going to Florida this weekend with my family and Florida means bathing suits. October means low maintence on many areas of bodily hair (How I love thee fall.) I needed to find somewhere to make myself a little more welcome in Florida. Maybe you kids in big cities have a dedicated waxing salon. But I’ll bet you don’t have one called The Naked Monkey (I’m really learning to love you Indianapolis.) When I had my first waxing experience last year in Utah, I googled what to expect. I was sorely misled (I’m looking at you About.com) With the limited knowledge I got from the internets I still had no idea how much goes into waxing. Did you know that a good waxing salon will have different kinds of wax for different textures of hair? Or medication that you’re on? Or skin type you have? The Naked Monkey had 20 (20!) different kinds of wax, and those ladies knew how to spread ‘em all. They’ve done over 1,000 Brazilians in 2008. It’s only October, you do the math.

Florida, here I come.

I apparently have (had) ethnic hair (I’m looking at you Great Great Great Grandpa Greek. Thanks for the nose too.) and my ethnic hair takes very well to waxing. (Meaning the hairs come from the root in one yanktastic tug resulting in pin pricks of blood, yet longer lasting results.)

While it’s hard to stay focused with hundreds of hairs moments away from being out of your body by bright blue wax, I tried to pay attention to the wealth of knowledge the owner, Jeniffer had for me. And to the wealth of sensation that is getting a Brazilian wax. (Oh, did I mention that I was talking about Brazilian waxes? Because I am.)

Anything you want to know about the procedure? Burning questions? I’m here to answer them, Casey of the TMI (too much information, fyi.) If you don’t ask I’ll just have to answer the questions I come up with.

For those of you ready to run to The Naked Monkey, here’s a little secret, before you can book with them they have to know who you heard about them from, guess what? You can say you know me. I’ve never been able to have my named “dropped” before. Awesome. Oh and hello? If you have a quick appointment YOU CAN BRING YOUR KIDS. I KNOW. But I wouldn’t reccomend bringing your kids to a bikini wax. Ever.)

Ask away! My pain? YOUR GAIN! (And if you have any reccomendations of specialty stores, especially around the Midwest, do tell.)

Tomorrow I am headed to a place called The Naked Monkey. Except this time? I’ll leave one sixteenth Floridian.

Because Florida is where I will be in a little over a week.

What? I’m going to have to wear a bathing suit. And naked monkeys look better in bathing suits than hairy monkeys.

ahem.

Do you think Wii Fit will notice a difference?

*******

Please vote for this to win a tech makeover, you guys are awesome. He’s to almost 900 votes and someone has anonymously donated a Nokia N95 to him. Thank you so much, but keep the votes coming! You don’t need to register, you can vote more than once, all you have to do is click “Like it?”

Uh, P.S. Guy who I’m trying to get the tech makeover for? Sorry you have to be involved in a naked monkey post, but really, the votes will come. Only the hairs will go. xoxo -Casey

Want to see me humbled?

Okay.

This is me on the phone with my best friend Kim, apologizing for the unintentional mess I made yesterday with this post. To make a long story short I had no idea that so many of Kim’s friends lurk on here. Needless to say Kim was assaulted after an emotionally difficult day with dozens of people calling and emailing to check on her.

I was not trying to steal her thunder.

I was not my intention to come off as a mean, backstabbing, jealous, catty, raging witch.

I truly am happy for her (and my other friend). I’m apparently just licking my wounds in an unacceptable manner for a lot of you. Truth is I am frustrated. As much as I’d like to throw my hands up in the air and say “It’s all up to you Lord.” I just can’t. It is one thing to know you will never be able to carry your own child. I cannot fathom the emotions that would come with such a knowledge and I greatly admire those who choose to adopt or go through invasive fertility treatments to have children of their own.

I let my own jealousy get the best of me. Knowing my body is capable of pregnancy and yet having it be uncooperative for the last three years is frustrating, okay? And to have a friend get pregnant in one shot (no pun intended) and another friend who was never supposed to be able to get pregnant in the first place because of a horrible case of endometreosis be pregnant with her third, on top of being surrounded by at least a half dozen pregnant neighbors on any given day?

I let it get to me.

I’m sorry.

I was trying to cover my own insecurities up with witty humor. And it helped. But that I hurt my best friend in the process, even if only for a few moments, doesn’t make it okay. Her friendship and trust mean more to me than any post ever could. And I’m sorry to any of you who I may have hurt or offended amidst this whole kerfuffle.
I love you Kim.

And I love that you’re cooking another half Brazilian baby for me to munch on.

“I love you too, Casey. All is forgiven. Feel free to munch on my babies anytime.”

*yawn*

Oh hi.

I’ve slept for five hours in the last 38.

Why?

BECAUSE I AM SO COMPLETELY CRAZY AWESOME THAT I STOOD IN LINE FOR FIVE HOURS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO GET A WII.

That’s right, I was the first fool one there. With books, snacks, a pillow, a camp chair a blanket and a my iPod. Boys showed up about 2:30 a.m. with nothing.

Boy were they bored.

I’m pretty sure they were pissed that a girl beat them to the front of the line. And I’m also pretty sure they were jealous of my luxurious spread that I had no intention of sharing.  By six a.m. there were about thirty people in line with only 16 Wiis to go around.

HA HA! FIRST, SUCKAS!

So yes, we have a Wii, Cody is currently ROCKING the Dance Dance Revolution. (I’m shocked and awed.) In an effort never seen before in our marriage we pooled every single cent from our Christmas money to buy one. (Cody just threw off his socks in an all out Wii Dance Dance Revolution SMACK DOWN. It is so on.)

I cook, I clean, I wax, I’m bendy, and I stand in line for hours to get a video game while my husband is at home sleeping snug as a bug in our warm little bed.

That’s me. Best wife ever.

Please be sure to remind my husband how good he has it, I think he forgets all the time sometimes.

This is one of those posts that no one related to me is EVER going to talk about.

They’re just going to stick their fingers in their ears and scream “LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU” and pretend that I don’t talk about my lady bits on the internet. But frankly, I have some information that a lot of you will be interested in. (This is an invitation to quit reading dad, neighbors, father in law, mom, bishop, priests, prudes. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

When this posts I will be at the airport surprising my husband. He thinks I am three hours away in his hometown and that he’ll be riding out with his sister tomorrow.

WRONG.

Instead his wife will be picking him up at the airport with a key to a hotel room five minutes from the airport.

You know, so we can go watch the news and take a nap.

IT’S BEEN FOURTY DAYS. Seriously, quit tsk tsking me. We have a lot of movies and books to catch up on together.

Heh.

Little does he know I spent an hour with a woman named Lisa on Monday. Lisa ripped every hair from my most tender areas with hot wax.

Whoo.

I know there’s a lot of you out there who have wanted to do this.

I haven’t even “used” it yet but I can already tell you to go do it.

It’s marvelous.

Your clothes fit better.

Really.

Yes, it hurts. 

And it involves some yoga type poses to get to all the, ahem, crannies.

I’m pretty sure I was more modest in the throes of childbirth.

Also, if your waxer uses hard wax you’ll need to know there will be a moment where it feels as though your, well, you know, is being sealed shut with a wax chastity seal.

But whoo.

It hurts so good.

I made a friend go with me and do it at the same time.

She’s test driven hers.

And whoo.

It will make watching all those movies much more comfortable.

Movies are always better when your jammies fit well.

Heh.

Saddle up kids it was another eventful day at the local YMCA.

All this two hour working out a day stuff?

Totally paid off today.

HOW?

I was hit on.

By Rob.

He’s been working out for two years, he started in a home gym and the manager of his previous gym was mean so he “was like outta there” and joined the Y.

He likes it here.

OH! Is this the part where I get to mention that Rob weighs in at an impressive 120 lbs. and is a towering 5′2″? OH! AND! And! that he can bench a mind boggling, well, however much the bar weighs?

That’s right Cody, watch out, Rob’s on the prowl.

Rawr.

Oy, bless his heart, I am flattered. But why is it that the Brazilian soccer player and the firefighter in Chicago made my heart all a flutter more so than snaggletooth skeevy Rob?

When everyone except your betrothed is off limits shouldn’t any little nod in your direction be just as flattering as a nod from Chicago’s finest? (And OOH was he fine.)

Flattered, yes. Creeped out? MmmHmm. To tell you the truth he fits a lot of profiles you hear about on Law & Order.

Hmm.

Oh, so then I was in the sauna and a woman with Hilary hair came in and said (wait for it)

“Gosh, it’s a little hot in here.”

Let’s make a quick list of places you’d expect it to be “a little hot.”

5. Swanky hotel with husband sans anklebiter.

4. Sahara.

3. Death Valley.

2. Any old person’s house.

and NUMBER ONE

1. A SAUNA.

She may have had the hair but not the brains.