Inevitably, while unpacking a moldy old box this week, we stumbled across a set of carved elephants that my ex-husband bought in Africa years ago.

Kip said we needed to let him know we found them and ask him what he wanted us to do with them. He said he would feel bad if we didn't.

"Go figure," he said. "I stole the guy's wife but I feel bad about keeping his elephants."

From the Department of TMI: I have a bladder infection.

I used to get these all the time in college. All the time. I was a regular at the campus health service. It got to the point where they just started packaging up the big yellow pills when they saw me walk in the door.

I don't know where this one came from, but surely I'm too old to be suffering from such a youthful ailment.

One good thing: You don't have to take the big yellow pills anymore. I take Ciprofloxacin for three days and I'm done.

Female plumbing is so complicated.

Is it just me, or is there something terribly significant about the fact that the American Idols tour is sponsored by Pop-Tarts?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

WTF???

Excellent job, "American Idol" voters. You eliminated the best singer on the show and left behind Blake the Babbling, Beatboxing Buffoon (seriously, beatboxing? Really? My 6-year-old son can make better robot noises, and he doesn't look as stupid doing it).

I hope Melinda goes on to sell 15 times as many records as Blake. But if he wins next week, I'm swearing off "American Idol" forever.

I have only this to say about Jerry Falwell's death yesterday from congestive heart failure: Jerry Falwell had a heart? (This is sort of like when Bob Hope died, and my pal Cindy, upon reading all the tributes to the boring old fart, said, "Bob Hope was a comedian?")