Greetings, my little lieblings:

Mommy has recklessly gathered up her bikini and Joan Didion sunglasses faster than you can say, �Where are our goddamned Manwiches, bitch,� jumped into The Duke, and flown off to fairer climes at 85mph. Actually, it may be a touch nippier here at the Jersey Shore, but work with me. Mommy needs a rest, huh kiddies? I promise when I return I will remember from now on to put milk in the condensed soup and swear on Lucifer not to put any training bras in the freezer (you hear me, Suzy Lee?). Mommy needs repose, babies.

I will keep this pithy, although I�ve learned from David Sedaris that true humor and understanding can only be gained through a real honest to goodness essay, with a beginning, middle, and end, no matter how much he makes it look like a family newsletter gone wrong or a suicide note taken to its hilarious pinnacle (which reminds me, Bobby�if the little ones get restless rub some Jim Beam on their binkies and read them a few pieces from Barrel Fever. They�ll then understand how good they have it. It�s in Mommy�s top drawer next to her, um, massager). That Sedaris fellow has got his finger on the pulse of the youth, I tell you what. Whereas Alan Cumming (as I�ve learned reading his debut novel Tommy�s Tale) has his wrapped around its cock, the other one coke-dipped and up its arse. But don�t get any ideas. That powder in the baggy under Mommy�s, um, massager, is very bad for little boys and girls and will do terrible things if rubbed on one�s swimsuit area. (Hewy, I�m talking to you!!!) No, it will not necessarily require medical assistance like the mass of yarns quietly plucked from the pink toilet seat cover and crammed up one�s nasal passages (like last summer), but may induce years of state-enforced psychological counseling, which believe me is no walk in the fucking park, excuse my French. No walk in the fucking park indeed, excuse my French.

Call Uncle Mortimer at the Sunnydale Naturalist Colony if you have a problem. His number�s on Mommy�s special medicine paper tablet�you know, the one I tell you forcefully not to scribble your infernal cave drawings on? The one that says Santa Mia Medical Center on it? With the Dr. Hubrick signature stamp next to it? Yeah�don�t be scribbling on it. Uncle Mortimer�s number is there but use it only if completely necessary. And Hewy: don�t go putting Muffin #2 in the microwave just to have an excuse to call Morty�s naked ass so that you can get him to buy you Natty Light because you�re so depressed about your dearly departed pet. If there�s anything I�ll teach you kids before I check out of this crazy world it�s that you can only use the same excuse once per city. And you don�t really want to subject your brothers and sisters to the sight of all those withered dangling peepees at the Colony again, now do you? And those blankets he gave you are dirty, DIRTY, I tells ya! Some stains children under the age of twelve should just not see.

Upon my return I will regale you with tales of Horseshoe Crabs the size of your Aunt Flo�s immense left breast that I am willing to carefully transport home in my vacant cooler so that they can eat off your arms if you misbehave while I�m gone, so I�m warning you�don�t. I�m serious. And I met a guy at bingo tonight who loves nothing more than finding ways of punishing naughty little children (and believe you me, he knows what he�s doing). And he liked my polka-dot bikini top so much I think he�s willing to do it for free.

; ��D (I�m not a fan of using emoticons here but I thought you�d like my stab at Pinocchio).

See you all when I get back.

Love and a 45,

Mama Ruby

PS. Stay outta Mommy�s Ginny Slims.

Word of the Day for Saturday August 31, 2002:

deliquesce del-ih-KWES, intransitive verb:

1. To melt away or to disappear as if by melting.

2. (Chemistry) To dissolve gradually and become liquid by attracting and absorbing moisture from the air, as certain salts, acids, and alkalies.

3. To become fluid or soft with age, as certain fungi.

4. To form many small divisions or branches -- used especially of the veins of a leaf.

Now it's high summer, the very high point of the high season, and I've just struggled back from Santa Eulalia with the weekly shop, most of which has already deliquesced into an evil-smelling puddle in the back of the car. --Paul Richardson, "A postcard from Paul Richardson," [1]Independent, August 19, 1996

His entire countenance seems to deliquesce into a splotch of spreading goo. --John Simon, "The Underneath," [2]National Review, May 29, 1995

His indifference toward if not hatred for his mother deliquesced, through the writing of this book, into a recognition of his love for her. --Leslie Schenk, "Rouge Decante," [3]World Literature Today, June 1, 1996

The peaches, pears and grapes progressively spot, dimple, crease, wrinkle, acquire brown patches, green bloom, a fuzz of green-grey fungal filaments, deliquesce to a beige-grey Roquefort and finally compost to a browny-black goo flickering with insects. --Christopher Hirst, "The weasel," [4]Independent, May 11, 2002

Deliquesce comes from Latin deliquescere, from de-, "down, from, away" + liquescere, �to melt," from liquere, "to be fluid." It is related to liquid and liquor.