2001-05-01 - 3:29 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "Blue Moon"

I have a confession to make.

I stole some flowers once.

Wait, I already confessed that, although not this specific incident.

Did I ever mention that my favorite flower is the lilac? My gosh, I love that flower. I love how they look, how they feel in the hand, and of course, how they smell. If I have lilacs, I'll put them on my desk and sniff them all day long.

When we lived in the rented house before this one, there was a house down the street that had a HUGE overgrown lilac bush on the corner of the lot. It was also the corner of the street, and there were branches that were just leaning over, practically laying on the sidewalk.

So one night, I am deeply ashamed to say, I went down and snipped a few small branches where it was covering the sidewalk. I should have gone up to the door and asked, but for some reason I didn't. As I said, I'm ashamed.

I resolved that next time I wanted lilacs, I would ask. So last week, I was out skating and happened by a house with a lilac bush on the corner lot.

There were two cars in front, so I figured someone was home. But two sets of knocks on the front door yielded no response. I went around to the side, where the kitchen door was actually open behind the screen door, and knocked, and said "Hello?" No answer.

I was frustrated and disappointed, since the lilacs were nearly dead and coming back the next day or over the weekend would be too late. But I felt too guilty to just take some lilacs. I looked around the house one more time, and then I turned around and saw a woman walking toward me with her dog. It was her house. I was thrilled.

I explained about my love of lilacs and asked for a few sprigs, and she said, "Oh, sure! Let me get you some scissors!" And she snipped a few sprigs for me, and I thanked her profusely, and skated away.

And I got to sniff lilacs all day the next day at work. Guilt-free.

I'm inviting a bunch of Triple-X seekers with this topic, but what the hell. Maybe I'll delete it in a few days before Google finds it. I get enough of the "ticklish pedicure" hits as it is, and none of them ever comes back for more, the bastards.

So, Carolyn Hax got a question in her chat on Monday about some girl who accidentally ran across her father's porno stash. Consisted of a couple of Penthouses, as I recall.

Apparently her mother was away at the time, on an annual "girls' week" with friends. When Mom returned, the stash was gone. The next year, Mom went away again, girl checks, and yeah, the stash is back. So this girl has checked the stash three times, at LEAST. She's quite a snoop.

Anyway, the girl's practically beside herself, freaking out at her dad looking at some bush. (Or well, to be honest, there isn't much actual bush left on Penthouse these days. Perhaps I should just say "twat", or "snatch", especially since both terms send me into gales of laughter. But I digress.)

For crying out loud.

I don't know where people get the idea that their parents aren't sexual beings. True, we may not want to HEAR about it, but it's still a fact. I suppose it's partly the parents' fault, for acting like prudes around their kids. It's silly. Nearly every one of us is the result of a single sex act between our parents, and not only that, but they did a lot of practicing before and after, too. And many of them, if they're still together, are still practicing! Imagine that!

Included in "practicing" might well be the occasional Penthouse when the spouse is away. Jeez, better Penthouse than a hooker or the sexy divorcee across the way, no?

I really don't understand why people get their panties in such a bind about pornography. I could understand if the pornography involves nonconsensual activities, or is of children, or if the person looks at pornography to the exclusion of sexual relations with their spouse. But, jeez, a peek at Penthouse and some solitary time now and then, in the context of a normal healthy relationship with a significant other, doesn't mean squat. Straight men like to look at naked girls. It's not a news flash. And if you're a straight female and you've ever read Karen Robards and liked it, well, then, it's the same damn thing.

I mean, honestly, if looking at pictures of naked people of the sex to which you're oriented (there's an awkward PC phrase) is supposed to mean that you're anything less than delighted with your spouse, then Poindexter would be in big, big trouble, given my Ewan McGregor obsession and the occasional whiplash I get at Pentagon City mall. But Poindexter is self-confident enough to know that if Ewan showed up at my door begging for sex, I'd turn him down with hardly a twinge of regret. And Poindexter doesn't begrudge me a tiny twinge, either. He'd feel the same way if it was Heather Locklear.

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