When my husband starts reading newspaper ads along about Thanksgiving time, it can mean only one thing . . . I'll be getting appliances for Christmas - again!  Here's the warning signs!

What does "winning" have to do with baseball? It all depends on whether you're the parent or the child.  Check out our "Babe" in the making!

What does it mean exactly when your husband actually helps without you asking? Guilt? Amnesia? No-no -- there's a much simpler answer. And it's right here.

What we women have to realize, is that owning a riding lawn mower has nothing to do with how much grass you do or don't have . . . for men, it's a love like no other!  And here's the proof . . .

You got to appreciate a man who's smart enough to know not to get in the way of woman with her hand stuck in a frozen chicken!  Read on . . .

My husband has his own version of a First Aid Kit -- a bottle of green stuff and a bottle of alcohol.  I am Mother . . . hear me rant!

What is it with men anyway?  Ask for a simple opinion about your hair & they cower in the corner like a scared puppy.  Come play "Truth or Dare" with me.

There is such a thing as too much togetherness . . . it's what they call that time when you put furniture together . . . together!  Read and learn.

If you were readng this ezine while waiting for hubby to find "the best parking place" at the mall, you'd have time to read all the past issues!  Circle around with me one more time . . .

Everyone has their job.  His is being designated driver -- mine is being the ever-vigilant Safety Officer.   It's my job to yell "STOP!"

OK - Here's a test for you . . . what's worse? Surgically removing a husband from his remote control or catching a cat who doesn't want to be caught?  Find out here.

I've seen GQ Magazine . . . my husband apparently hasn't.   Meet . . . My Trendy Guy

And what is it men love even more than their old clothes? (No -- not that!)  Read all about having The Right Tools

To Outdoor Types . . . Sweating Is A Noble Pastime -- As for me -- I'll be at the Holiday Inn if you need me!

 Go ahead . . . give your husband shopping hints . . . not that he'll hear you!  This is how men shop . . .   It Ain't A Pretty Sight!

On the day after Thanksgiving some hardy folks camp in front of their favorite stores since the early morning hours to buy Christmas gifts. Although men are undoubtedly in the line, it's a sure thing none of them are there to purchase Christmas gifts for their wives. Trust me on this one.

I am the wife of the King of Procrastination, a man who has dedicated himself to waiting until the very last possible second in which to do his Christmas shopping, especially for me. But that's not the only holiday problem he has.

My spouse is also gullible, despite what those who know him may think. Just how gullible is he? Well – HE THINKS I'M TELLING THE TRUTH WHEN I SAY I DON'T WANT ANYTHING FOR CHRISTMAS! Hahahahahahahahaha! Can you believe it? He just doesn't get it, even after nearly 17 years of marriage and hundreds of hints. And if you don't believe me, consider the following typical pre-holiday repartee between the two of us:

Him: What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas this year?

Me: Oh, honey, don't worry about me. I don't want anything. I'll just wear this old beat-up cheap watch/necklace/coat for another year or two. You spend your money on yourself.

Him: OK.

See what I mean? How naïve! How trusting! How suicidal! How can he possibly fall for that old line about not wanting anything for Christmas? Where have I failed as a wife? How do I make him see I DON'T REALLY MEAN IT!

So, you may ask, why don't I just go ahead and tell him what I want? That's a silly question. As all wives know, it's forbidden by the rules of The Game.

For those who are not yet aware of The Game or its rules, here's how it works: First I tell him I don't want anything. This denial is accompanied by heavy hinting, such as circling items in ads and sales papers, pining over consumer goods in the stores and sighing during TV commercials when a desired object is displayed. Then, about one week before Christmas I ransack all his hiding places and find – NOTHING! Time for phase two.

In phase two of The Game, I wrap something very large with his name on it and place it under the tree where even a Cyclops couldn't miss it. I also wrap a couple zillion small items and toss them around. Then I tell the kids I've put something new under the tree for them.

The kids, being nosy, start rooting around the packages and complaining to their father – who is kicked back in his recliner watching the televised sporting event of the minute – that all the packages are for him.

In some households, this might elicit immediate shopping frenzy in the husband department. But not in mine. He's too busy wondering whether some buffalo of a lineman is off-sides to occupy himself with the truly important stuff in life, like whether his wife is going to be convicted of a misdemeanor or a felony when Christmas morning dawns.

So we move to the next phase, in which I bribe my daughter to talk her dad into taking her Christmas shopping and she shames him into buying something for me. Of course, there are drawbacks to having an 11-year-old pick out one's Christmas presents. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with all that body glitter I got two years ago.

Not to mention the ring for my belly button.