Not sure which I’m more disturbed by—that someone is using his junk to procreate, or that his hair looks frighteningly like mine in this picture. And TELL me he’s not wearing at LEAST mascara, if not false eyelashes (of which mine are still languishing at the bottom of my purse from last weekend. Suppose I should get them out of there.) As always, there’s just no accounting for taste sometimes.

So my one oldest and dearest e-mails me excitedly yesterday all about our, get this, 20-year high school reunion. At first I was kinda like, “Ew, I’m in touch with all the people I want to be in touch with from high school, thankyew,” but now that I’ve been looking at the Web site the committee’s set up, I’m thinking there are some comedic possibilities that’ll be too good to pass up. And anyways, my pal promised he would stay at Chez Broad and dry-hump me until my leg’s raw, and really, how could I possibly turn THAT down?