Foux de fa fa!

I'm a little obsessed:

Foux de fa fa!

I should be studying Algerian politics, the latest updates on Arizona Standards of Education and cooking an apple crumble pie. Mais, non.

Voila -- le conversation a la parc!

Just Me and My Clone

I've been thinking about cloning.

I've always said that I would be the happiest girl in the world if I could just have a clone of myself made. I would send her off to do the things that I find distasteful.

She could have lab work done and get her cholesterol tested. She could throw up on the phlebotomist's shoes and have the dentist tell her that it is all in her mind, this terrible fear of needles that she has. She would probably really like to return 100 phone messages. Washing the dishes is just as fun as finding that the back of her pants have been covered in cat hair for most of the day. This clone, she likes to wear all of the clothes that I should wear but I am too lazy to iron. Not only would she press them, she would use the fancy linen water, making them smell like Egypt in the Spring time.

My clone, she never procrastinates. She always pays all of her bills on time, especially the electric bill, and knows exactly which movie will be arriving from Netflix before they even send out a reminder email. I know my clone would have a green thumb and will be able to finally answer the question of why the marigolds on the right side of the yard have grown so much faster and taller than the marigolds on the left side of the garden. She will even know how to make perfect tarts! She would never buy lemon filling -- she would make it herself, using the juice of snow lemons from a tree that she cultivated from a tiny clipping that she brought back from a tiny hilltop village in Spain.

I would bring my clone along to parties and she would tell charming stories about my foibles. I probably wouldn't like that very much and might not invite her along the next time. She would begin to resent me, but wouldn't say anything about it. She might open a new credit card at K-Mart and secretly begin purchasing little things from Martha Stewart's Home line. It would be unlikely that I would notice at first -- that Martha Stewart, she makes some lovely blue tea-towels. This would irritate my clone, and she would buy new tires and home appliances. She would check the mail before I had a chance to, pulling out the credit card bill. She would hide it, along with the past due notices. Suddenly, I would have a terrible credit score and my kitchen accessories would be repossessed by the bank. My clone would glare at me as I realized that she was ruining my life.

I would have no choice. I would have to eat her.

At least the FDA agrees with me.