Posing As Normal© The Humor of Mary Tompsett

Love, Regifted ........Deep within the cold, bleak heart of February lurks the feast of St. Valentine. According to legend, Val’s cryptic signature of “Veal sinneth” was decoded centuries later to “St. Valentine” by a dyslexic Hallmark copy editor. ........Ever notice that our ideas of what’s “attractive” can change? In the old days I fell for bedroom eyes and Brute® cologne. Lately, I lust for a big rack of bedroom ears. I mean, somebody’s got to hear the damn alarm! My keen tactile senses still detect snoring, so I’m also smitten by bedroom lips. No, not Elvis lips. QUIET ones. Preferably, duct-taped until he wakes up. ........And Brute® cologne?? Some women’s libber, I was. Thanks to obedience classes, I eventually taught my reptilian brain to sit up and beg at the scent of Mr. Clean®. I hear Burger King now markets a men’s body spray, called Flame®. The smell of grilled beef doesn’t turn me on, but words like “cheap,” “sizzling” and “whopper” do suggest a certain sleazy male cachet. ........Vegetarians, take heart! Pillsbury has introduced its own cologne, “Flapjacks.” Hmm…the name troubles me. Lacks a solid image of virility, don’t you think? And rumor has it, the short-stack version ain’t sellin’ so good. ........Need a special V-Day present? Regift something tacky from Christmas! A word of caution. We like to think “it’s the thought that counts.” But in reality the givee’s hurt feeling always trumps the giver’s intention. For you now, Valentine regifting guidelines—a storehouse of wisdom from someone who really shouldn’t believe everything she thinks. ........Attention, women! Is your sweetie a bit of a baldy? Well, dig out the Chia Head/Rogaine® dispenser! Let those budding Chia sprouts rekindle your panicked hope while you wait, together, for a miracle. ........Or, for the hirsute gent in your life, regift that solar-powered back shaver! If you’re repulsed by the thought of having to help with the hard-to-reach spots, by all means cough up the extra money for a remote. ........Listen up, men! Candy. Gather the broken Santas and smushed snowmen. Melt them, in their foil wrappers, and reshape into heart-like lumps. For added skinnyfication, serve by candlelight in front of a fun-house mirror. ........Calendar towel. True, it’s damned hard to scribble appointments on a nubby towel with dates the size of peas. So, tell her to do less! Haha, I’m so funny. Seriously, wrap your mitts around a red marker, then circle her birthday and all special days—first date, first sex, first fight, the wedding and, yes, the vasectomy. Get these right, Bubba, and she won’t care that it’s last year’s towel. ........Sausage variety pack. Um, no. Scrap any notion of regifting this to a woman unless she’s a Himalayan mountain guide with 0.0004% body fat. ........Vacuum. Give only if you really want out of the relationship. Yes, guys, I realize you probably harbor a secret fantasy around the term, “dirt devil.” Let. It. Go. ........To anyone who’ll listen: Undies. A minefield for both genders because we buy what we like. Men opt for the sexy stuff. My advice? Skip the red G-string unless it’s made of low-cal licorice or can serve as a package bow on the sausage gift pack. ........Women give cute boxer shorts, like Sponge Bob Square Pants.™ But most men—yes, even those who smell like Mr. Clean®—hesitate to link their machismo with a sponge. Never give “Where’s Waldo?”™ shorts. You’ll have bigger fish to fry than a Valentine if he thinks you can’t find his Waldo. ........The Clapper. Goodness, gracious. Let’s just say the name itself elicits an overwhelming urge to lay one’s hands on industrial-strength penicillin. ........What’s that? Uh-huh. You’ve already ordered her presents from TV ads, for $19.95. (Sigh.) You’re right, gifts are mere symbols of love, and it is the thought that counts. Okay, Romeo, go for it! You’ll rock her world with the Ped Egg® heel callus remover and a pair of slipper mops.