Divorce is so gay

During the past 2 weeks, friends have told me about 4 recently separated couples in our local community. All 4 couples are of the lesbian mom variety. It just so happens, that I don’t know any of them personally. “What?” you ask, “you people don’t all know each other?” Well, my friend, it’s actually not the least bit queer that I am not acquainted with all the gay homosexuals in town. There are a lot of us here, and we don’t all live on the same street. We don’t all shop in the same stores or pursue the same interests. We don’t all have kids who are the same age or at the same schools. Some of us even have straight friends-just for show, of course. And some of us...are you sitting down? Some of us are card-carrying Republicans. I know! Ghastly!

Point is, the gays do not all know each other nor do we aspire to know each other because frankly, the only thing we have in common is that we shtup people with the same parts.. Oh yeah, and we are denied equal rights because we shtup people with the same parts. I personally do not think it’s fair to deny me, Deborah Goldstein, equal rights when I rarely get to shtupping in the first place. Perhaps the federal government could see fit to offer an equality plan for those gay homosexuals who aren’t getting any. The new equality for hard-up gays will allow the nation to take baby steps towards equal rights for all its citizens without going whole hog--like offering a public option rather than single payee health care. I digress.

My point before I started drinking my 4th caffeinated beverage of the day was to discuss Dyke Divorce-family style. I’ll try to reign in my scattered thoughts. When I was around 11 and my mother lamented the state of the Jewish people, I would react to her much like a dog listens to a babbling owner. An ear cocked, an eyebrow raised and utter confusion fogged my already simple mind. She’d wipe her hands on a dish towel, look in the direction of no one in particular and say, “First, the Orientals take the valedictorian spots away from our children in our schools. Now divorce. I am sick about it. I’m absolutely sick about it.” I didn’t get it. “Why are YOU so upset that the Shapiros got divorced? Isn’t it better to be divorced than to stay in an unhappy marriage?” I asked. “Jews don’t get divorced,” she snapped. I’d quickly find somewhere else to be to avoid any further tutelage. This was the same woman who told me that Jews don’t drink, and we know that this information is just plain wrong.

My mother always believed that the Jews subscribe to a higher moral code than the rest of humanity. Any indiscretion was a slap in the face for our people and a punch in my mother’s gut. I tried to ignore her as best I could. Four Dyke Divorces later and I am my mother. I’m gutted that our families are breaking apart. I take each divorce to heart even though I have no connection to these people. Unlike my mother, I don’t hold lesbians to the same standards my mother holds the Jews. That’s just stupid. But I am sad nonetheless.

It’s not easy this gay family business. Being out, loud and proud is challenging enough in this country but having children is an entirely other level of struggle. There’s no dollar store for children, I’ll tell you that much. Anyone, gay or straight who has not been able to or who has chosen not to conceive children on their own, can appreciate the expense and emotional roller coaster ride of fertility treatments or the adoption process or the boundless courage and detailed planning that goes into snatching a small child from an unattended shopping cart. Making gay families is no walk in the park.



There are plenty of opportunities throughout the making of a gay family for either party to pull out-so to speak. I’m not a betting gal, but I’d put money down that none of these women thought to themselves, “I’m going to spend a small fortune and obsess about motherhood for months or even years to have a child with this partner of mine. We’re going to overcome all the legal and administrative hurdles of adoption. We’re going to put ourselves on macrobiotic diets and book our weekly acupuncture sessions and take royal jelly tablets to maximise our chances of falling pregnant. And when we finally have our beautiful child and the family about which we have always dreamed, we’ll re-evaluate our relationship to see if it’s working out.” I can only imagine that these women believed in their hearts that their family would be solid and forever.

I know. I know. No couple thinks this way before having children-gay or straight. I just wanted to believe that if you survived all of that mishigas, you were somehow more committed to your partner than the rest of the married population. I also wanted to believe that my Plantars Wart would just go away on its own. Sigh.

The fact is the gays are no different than anyone else. Why should we be? Wasn’t it a woman wise beyond her years, a sage, in fact, who said, “the only thing that separates gays from the rest of the world is that we shtup people with the same parts”? Who’s to say that Gabriella and I won’t go our separate ways one day? I can tell you now that we’ll be together forever, but I can’t really know for certain. Once our kids are old enough to cook for me, I might not need her hanging around anymore. Gabriella did not care for that bit and asked if I would consider removing it. I told her that I would not remove it, but that I'd be happy to post her disapproval. Open communication is key to a successful marriage.

I would prefer if families were somehow immune to divorce. It would be nice to believe the gays could show the world how it’s done. But it's time to get my head out of that rainbow cloud and come back to Earth. Divorce is not necessarily a bad thing. It could be the beginning of happier days for everyone in an unhappy family. I hope that’s the case for anyone in this situation regardless of shtupping preference. I wish you an easy separation and happier days ahead.

The school district hates me

Asher has always been a great sleeper. For this I am grateful. He goes to bed at 7pm, and we usually have to wake him up at 7:45am to get to the bus on time. This leaves few hours after school for homework and general recreation...for which I am grateful as well. It’s not that I count the hours of every conscious moment of the day until I can throw my kids in bed and breathe in peace and exhale quiet. Ok, maybe I do count the hours on the occasional day. This year, I am grateful for the limited hours of wakefulness because of a district-wide initiative throughout our schools called TV Turn-Off (aka Parent Punishment).

To those who have no televisions in their homes or who limit their children’s screen time to 30 minutes or less per day, well, I don’t really have anything to say to you because we clearly have little in common. I can but apologise for what is bound to be a post of little to no value to you other than providing yet another opportunity for you to feel superior to most other parents whose televisions are members of the family. Our television, Uncle See-More, is our friend, and we are not REMOTELY embarrassed by our love for him.

According to the A.C. Nielsen Company, the average American watches more than 4 hours of TV each day. In a 65-year life, that person will have spent 9 years in front of the boob tube. Yeah? And your point is? The average American will have slept for 24 years by the time they reach 74 years old during which time that same person will have spent 3.6 years in a car and will have used 1,539,570 sheets of toilet paper. Numbers shmumbers!

Have you seen children’s television these days? It’s pretty amazing, and the boys have actually learned a thing or two about reading and science and good behavior in general. It’s not like the random selection of programming when I was a kid. Ok, there were classics like Scooby Doo and Bugs Bunny and Sesame Street and The Big Blue Marble...anyone? But, after 9am during the week, there were few options on the 4 channels available to us. I don’t think that Good Times or What’s Happening can be classified as children’s programming.

I realize that the point of those statistics is to shock us into reevaluating how much time we allow our children to watch television, and that’s a worthy exercise…for other people. I’m perfectly happy with the number of hours and the tv shows our kids watch in a day. So, when I received the form encouraging students to opt in to TV Turn-Off, I tread carefully with Asher.

Deborah: Are you sure you want to do this?

Asher: What are the choices again?

D: For the Bronze, you can have 60 minutes of screen time each day during the school week including television, the Wii and your computer games. If you go for Silver, you get 30 minutes of all of those things each day during the school week. Gold means that you can’t watch or do any of those things at all until the weekend. Nothing. Nada. Naught. Zip.

A: Which one is the biggest prize?

D: The prizes are all the same, a trophy, but the colors are different.

A: Which one is the best color?

D: Gold. That’s first place, and that would mean that your only screen time is on the weekends or during school breaks. No television, no Wii, no computer games. Did I mention that, already?

A: What would I do instead of those things?

D: Are you kidding? There are lots of things you can do! You can have play dates or you could play with your toys or read books or do art projects...

A: Will you play with me?

D: Of course. Listen, if you want the Gold prize, Mommy and I will help you get it. But you don’t have to go for the Gold prize, Asher. You could go for the Silver or Bronze. You’d get a prize, and you’d still be able to watch a little television every day. (I'm willing you to go for Bronze. Go for Bronze!)

Unfortunately, he had seen the shiny, cheap gold plastic trophy that his friend’s older brother received for his efforts the previous year and discovered the meaning of the word covet.

A: I think I’ll try for Gold if you think I can do it.

What am I supposed to say to that? No. I don’t think you can do it? And what’s more, I don’t think I can do it? Let’s just make life easy for ourselves and continue allowing Uncle See-More to babysit you while I justify my negligence with claims that children’s television programming is good for you?

D: Of course I think you can do it. Let’s sign up for gold then. (Shit, shit, shit!)

I stared at the form for a solid 2 minutes before reaching for the pen. Will your child be participating in TV Turn off for the entirety of the academic year? Yes, check. Please select the level of participation below. Gold, check. Will the parents be participating in TV Turn-Off along with your child? Hmm, this is a tough one. I don’t see the option that says, Are you mother-fucking kidding? Piss off! I select No instead.

What I’ve learned after 3 weeks of TV Turn-off.

1. Asher talks incessantly.

2. The card game War is possibly the most boring card game in existence.

3. I am more tolerant than I realized of children hurling themselves on and over furniture and outdoor games inappropriately played indoors so that I do not have to entertain during every TV Turn-Off minute of the day.

4. Asher’s self-discipline amazes me. The other day, I brought up the GPS map in the M-V, and Asher asked me if he was allowed to look at it. It is a screen, after all. I made the executive decision that the GPS was fair game.

Wish us luck! We’re going to need it.

Just because I found it while surfing classic children's programming.

The gays of Who-ville

It’s been a week now since the march, and it already seems like ages ago. It could be because we spent the march in glorious, sunny heat and returned to wintry cold. It’s as cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra over here. Even though we can’t afford heat, we caved and cranked it on as soon as we could see our breath inside our own house. It must have been the cold that also prevented my fingers from moving nimbly enough across the keyboard to share with you my thoughts on the march. Still cold outside, but I can feel my fingers.

If a gay protests in the middle of DC, and there’s no one there to hear it, does the gay make a sound?

There were 200,000 marchers in Washington DC fighting to uphold the 14th Amendment. You know the one. That’s the amendment that requires states to provide equal protection under the law to all citizens of this great nation. There we were, masses of people of all ages and colors and backgrounds united in the fight to for civil rights, and yet I couldn’t help feeling like a Who in Who-ville making all sorts of ruckus on top of a weed to an audience of none. Who is our Horton? Moses led the Jews out of Egypt. Lincoln supported the abolition of slavery. Who is fighting our fight from the inside? Who is even listening to us? Lady Gaga? Difficult to tell how moved she is by our struggle…she’s got such a poker face. (insert groan for bad pun here)

Incidentally, Poker Face is a song about fantasizing about a woman while sleeping with a man.


I’m glad we were there, and I’d do it again, but after marching down Pennsylvania Avenue and in front of the White House and arriving at The Capitol, I couldn’t help thinking, “Is that it?” I tried to get swept up in the excitement of the day, I really did. It’s highly possible that pushing a stroller with 2 tired kids demanding Pirate’s Booty the entire time prevented us from taking in the full scale of the march. (Pirate’s Booty is a cheese-puff type of snack-not a euphemism for some sort of salacious, gay role play activity). Could it be that blondes AND childless marchers have more fun?

Though we were positioned towards the front of the march, we were far from chanters, drummers or bullhorns. We wanted to get swept up in a bit of energetic passion, but the gays in our section simply didn’t bring it. Surfing the web the next day, I ran across blog after blog entry posted by excited marchers who thought that the National Equality March was one of the single most significant and powerful moments of their lives. Were we at the same march?

Even the protestors were uninspired. I could count the protestors on the sidewalks on one hand. There was this lone truck circling the capital, and no one could be bothered to flip the bird or even wave a rainbow flag in the driver’s general direction.

I remember marching on Washington in 2004 for reproductive rights. I was overwhelmed by the numbers of people and electricity in the air. Let’s do a little march comparison, shall we?

Civil Rights March on Washington 1963
The event included musical performances by Marian Anderson; Joan Baez; Bob Dylan; Mahalia Jackson; Peter, Paul, and Mary; and Josh White. Artists participated such as Charlton Heston, Harry Belafonte, Marlon Brando, Diahann Carroll, Ossie Davis, Sammy Davis Jr., Lena Horne, Paul Newman and Sidney Poitier.
The speakers included all of the "Big Six" civil-rights leaders (James Farmer, who was imprisoned in Louisiana at the time, had his speech read by Floyd McKissick); Catholic, Protestant, and Jewish religious leaders; and labor leader Walter Reuther. The one female speaker was Josephine Baker, who introduced several "Negro Women Fighters for Freedom," including Rosa Parks. And of course, Martin Luther King, Jr.

March for Reproductive Rights 2004 750,000 people!
Celebrity speakers and marchers included actors Whoopi Goldberg, Susan Sarandon, Kathleen Turner, Cybill Shepherd and Ashley Judd, as well as singers Ani DiFranco, Moby and the Indigo Girls. The heads of the seven main sponsoring organizations—the National Organization for Women, Planned Parenthood, the National Abortion Rights Action League, the Black Women’s Health Imperative, the American Civil Liberties Union, the Feminist Majority, and the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health. A host of Democratic Party politicians such as Senator Hillary Clinton, Senator Barbara Boxer and former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright also joined.

National Equality March 2009
Entertainers Billie Myers, David Koz and the Gay Men’s Chorus of Washington DC. Speakers included Stuart Applebaum, Richard Aviles, Jarret Barrios, Dustin Lance Black, Julian Bond, Marsha Botzer, Christine Chavez, Stacey Ann Chin, Lt. Dan Choi, Kate Clinton, Tanner Efinger, Aiyi’nah Ford, Michael Huffington, Kim Coco Iwamoto, Cleve Jones, Robin McGehee, David Mixner, Nicole Murray Ramirez, Chloe Noble, Tobias Packer, Reverend Troy Perry, NYC Council Speaker Christine C. Quinn, LA Council Member Bill Rosendahl, Babs Siperstein, Judy Shepard, Maxim Thorn, Urvashi Vaid, Derek Washington, Falls Church City Council Member Lawrence Webb, Kit Yan, Kip Williams, Sherry Wolf.

I don’t mean to imply that the speakers at NEM were not important people in their own right. The speeches delivered that day were eloquent and moving. But compare the rosters, and you’ll come to the same conclusion I did. This was not a mainstream event, and it should have been. Where were all the heavy hitters? Why weren’t the celebrities and politicians lining up to have their say? Where were all the Americans who care about civil rights?

Focusing on marriage is a distraction. Do we think the only way we’ll attain equal rights is through the backdoor? Steady gays. But ok, if I’m going to go down the double entendre path, let’s stop beating around the bush! Stop pussy-footing around the issue! We should be demanding equal rights full stop. Perhaps the time is not right. It's possible that things have to get worse before they get better. Obama would not have been elected if not for Bush. I guess that means things have to get pretty bad.

In front of the Lincoln Memorial, we did not tell Asher that we were marching so that we could get married. We were marching to demand equality for every person in this country. Once there were slaves in the United States, and President Lincoln wanted all people to be free and equal. Abraham Lincoln was also a Jew-lover, too (though I did not use those words with my almost 6 year old). He was outspoken about his intolerance for bigotry of all kinds regardless of how unpopular his objectivity may have been. Such a mensch. So, does President Obama have Lincoln’s moxy to stand up for civil rights over prejudice, or will he turn his back on equality? I think I know the answer, and unfortunately I’m not surprised. We might have to wait until Malia comes out of the closet.
During the drive home, my non-wife of 15 years and I debriefed. We felt good about participating. We were proud to have represented families whose marching days are restricted because marches are not very family-friendly. “How was your march?” asked friends as if we had just come back from apple picking. Our march? Herein lies the problem. Why is this my issue and not my neighbour’s? This fight is not a gay fight. The right to marry is not about the right to register for china. It’s about protection and equality under the law. We need more Whos and more Hortons and fewer sour kangaroos. I wonder when enough of us will rally to save Who-ville.

This testimony was given during a hearing on Maine's marriage equality bill on April 22, 2009. Nearly 4,000 people attended the hearing, with marriage equality supporters out-numbering the opposition 4 to 1. Thanks JLF for the link!

National Equality March 2009

Photos now. Thoughts later.

I kid you not, there was a rainbow in the sky just as the march was beginning. Is that you, God? What? You love gays? I knew it.

At the Milk & Cookies event on Saturday. Face painting, balloon animals, sign making and, of course, milk and cookies. Way to make a march family-friendly!
















In memory of the first gays who marched on Washington

Gays who march

We’re packing up the M-V and heading to Washington DC this weekend where we’re going to march for marriage equality on Sunday, October 11. It began as a throw-away question. “Hey, Gabriella. Let’s go to the National Equality March on the 11th in Washington DC. Whaddya say?” She reacted in the same manner as she does when she’s driving the car and I ask her if she’s up for some road head. She ignored me. We have a great arrangement, actually. I say anything that comes to mind whether it be inappropriate or lewd and Gabriella completely ignores me. Now, THAT is the secret to good communication.

Gabriella did not ignore my suggestion to head to DC because she is complacent. She is just as disgusted with the fact that we’re still fighting for equal rights in this country as I am. If we didn’t have small children, we wouldn’t think twice about marching in Washington DC where we could be angry and protest and blow whistles really really loudly. But when you have to drive for 4 hours to get to your march or rally and you have a kid in diapers who naps for 3 hours during the day and 2 kids who go to sleep at 7pm, protesting out of state just doesn’t seem very family friendly. The cost and inconvenience of a hotel room alone is a deal breaker.

Sigh. We would be sweeping ashes into the fire and singing with animated mice instead of going to the march with all the other gays. We WOULD, that is, until our Fairy Godmother appeared and with a wave of her sparkly wand, granted us access to her swank apartment in Dupont Circle which will be vacant that weekend. BIBBIDI BOBBIDI BOO! Why, it’s more than we could have ever imagined. Oh, thank you Fairy Godmother!

After our summer of road trips, we feel comfortable with the preparation. Loads upon loads of laundry. Why are there always so many loads of laundry to do before a trip? Clothes, snacks for the car, games, DVDs. Now we have to consider march-wear. Practical shoes, buggyboard for the stroller and the last-minute t-shirt order from Family Evolutions. Every angry protestor knows that you’re never fully dressed without t-shirts, buttons and signage. We’re here! We’re queer! We just want to register! ...or something. I’m counting on the cast of HAIR to work up some catchy chants. The Broadway producers canceled the Sunday matinee so that the entire cast could march!

When we’re not marching with the cast of HAIR, we’ll be sight-seeing. Asher wants to meet Barack Obama and ask him questions about the “bad president”. He’s more than a little interested in Richard Nixon ever since he asked me if there were any bad presidents. I admit I took the easy way out with Nixon.

We have a few other things to do while we’re there. My bee-keeping neighbour told me to check out Michelle Obama’s bee-hive, and my friend who worked at The National Park Service wants me to take pictures of the Washington Monument Ha-ha walls. I know, I said the same thing. It’s a security trench surrounding the Washington Monument that replaced the existing walls named after the big, ugly concrete meridians in New Jersey, the jersey barriers. So proud to be representing Jersey. The ha-ha walls are built into the ground providing better visibility of the Monument and a much more ascetic view. People running into or over the walls inspired the name apparently. Already, this trip is proving to be so very educational.

So, if you see a mini-van with Jersey plates heading into town with 2 ladies in the front seat, 2 boys in the back and a DVD playing either Thomas the Tank Engine or Cars, show us some car horn love and meet us in the Fruit Loop for some finger pointing, whistle blowing, gay rabble-rousing! But, please try not to curse in front of the children.

I am morah

I don’t quite know how it happened. Well that’s not entirely true. It would be more accurate to say that I’m still in a state of disbelief that it happened. As of next week, I will be our synagogue’s new Sunday school teacher. I’ll be influencing the impressionable minds of seven year olds who are in search of a connection to Judaism, an understanding of God and an acceptable explanation why they must sacrifice a precious weekend day when they could be watching television in their pajamas until noon while their parents try to sleep.

If my mother knew, she’d plotz. She’d run outside the house to see if clouds were melting over treetops or if single payer healthcare reform had been approved – both clear signs that either the world was ending or someone had slipped a couple of acid tabs into her tea. It would be inconceivable to her that a synagogue in the Conservative sect of Judaism would hire some sociopath to spread sacrilege and blasphemy to Jewish children. Of course, we already know that my mother is a bit off, but her shock may not be entirely unjustified in this case.

I grew up within the Conservative movement-wow, what a crappy name. The label originally reflected the conservation of Judaism as opposed to an alignment with politically conservative ideals. Time for a rebrand, I say. Gee, I wonder if there are any Jews in PR or advertising... That being said, Conservative Judaism does lean towards the traditional, and it’s impossible to ignore all the God stuff. I have an attenuated relationship with tradition, and I have zero relationship with God.

Are you suddenly relieved that your child is not receiving religious instruction from me? Or are you one of my local readers who is now terrified that your child might actually be in my class? Me too! I never liked your kid, anyway. No! I’m not talking about YOUR kid...

The good news is I will not be introducing Atheism to my Kitah Bet class (2nd grade class). I need a job, and I’m certainly not going to bite the God-loving hand that feeds me! And, in spite of my own uncertainty of a few teachings, I do believe that Jewish children should learn the foundations. Like classical ballet is to modern dance and piano scales are to jazz, you’ve got to understand the basics. The basics (the traditions, the holidays, the rituals, the language) are the basics that connect us as a people-regardless of what the people believe.

Luckily, there is a place in Conservative Judaism for questions. The questions and the search for the answers connect us, too. I’m thinking that we’re all going to learn quite a bit from each other this year. Of course, I’m still a wee bit nervous. I don’t have any formal training in education or child development. I’ll have the support of the faculty and lots of reference books to study, and of course God will be with me though I might not notice. I have a week to brush up on my Hebrew and plan my class. The JLC Director (Jewish Learning Center - Y2K speak for Hebrew School) continues to field all my questions to assure me that I'm on the right path.

Deborah: “How should the kids refer to me?”

JLC Director: “All the teachers use the title Morah or Moreh and their first names. You can use your Hebrew name if you want, or you could go by Deborah. Your Hebrew name is Devorah (pron. de VO rah), yes?”

D: “Yes. Hmmmm. Morah Deborah or Morah Devorah? I’ve got to go for the rhyme. Morah Devorah it is! Kind of catchy, no? Morah – Devorah! We’re gonna do the horah…after studying some Torah. You’ll be begging me for more-a. I’m Morah Devorah!”

JLC D: “I think you’ll do just fine.”

I may be cynical, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be silly. Watch out Kitah Bet! I’m coming for you!!

There goes my date with Doug

The morning rush to the bus stop is a stressful time. In a space of 45 minutes, Asher must make his bed, brush his teeth, go to the bathroom AND wash his hands, get dressed and eat a healthy breakfast. Sounds easy enough, doesn't it? But anyone with small children knows how challenging that can be for everyone involved.

“Asher, do I have to ask you one more time to get dressed? Uch, fine! I’ll help you just so we can get out the door on time.”

We can’t be late for the bus. I know that if I drive Asher to school even once, we’re toast. He’ll never want to take the bus again. I was determined to get that kid dressed in record time even if it meant dressing him while he was playing on the Wii. When Asher is in front of the Wii, nothing else in the world exists, and usually that’s just the way we like it. At the crack of ass on a Sunday, we’ll do just about anything to ignore our children.

Asher creeps into our room and asks, “Mom? Can I play the Wii?”

“YES!! PLEASE!! FOR FUCK SAKE, PLAY THE WII!!”

Does it need to be said that we don’t actually drop the F-bomb around our kids? Yes? Well we don’t. Ok, MAYBE I occasionally mumble colourful strings of profanities under my breath, but I’m absolutely sure the children can’t hear me. What was that you just said?!? I couldn’t hear you chastising me because I was too busy cursing you for giving me that judgmental look. You know the one!

Asher didn’t flinch as I reached over him to pull his shirt over his head. He decided that he literally needed to throw himself into the game, and as I was about to crown him with the neck of his shirt he launched himself into the air with the velocity of a rocket blasting off into space. Asher did not manage to make it to the moon. His flight was aborted by my nose. Was that the sound of my bottom teeth smacking against the top teeth, or did something just crack? I ran out of that room so that I wouldn’t upset the boys (read so that I wouldn't swear like a truck driver in front of them), and the pain was monumental.

It was Levi who followed me into the bathroom. “You ok, mama?” “Yes, Levi. I’m ok.” LIES! I wanted to cry, but it hurt too much to frown. Asher was still on the Wii prioritising a high score to the well being of his mother. Gabriella was equally as empathetic. “You’re freaking Levi out, honey.” Nice.

I turned to the mirror to assess the situation. Is there blood? No. Are there any insides that are now on the outside? No. Is my nose still in the middle of my face or do I look like a Picasso painting come to life? No, seems to be in the same place. So far, so good. “You should put ice on it.” Gabriella says trying to recover. “No time. Have to get to the bus stop.” And so I rallied.

A few days later, and my nose is still complaining. Gabriella continues to push me to see a doctor, and I just might. Perhaps it would be worth it if our insurance covers a little shave off the top – for medical reasons, of course. We’ll see. In the meantime, there goes my date with Doug.