Six days with a suffering Sicilian is enough to drive any woman mad.  By the time I got Bob back on the airplane, we’d both taken vows of life-long celibacy.  Wasn’t so bad at first, rather pleasant in fact.  But things took a turn for the worst when I asked him to pick up his socks.

And after I gave him a badly buttered piece of toast, things really went to hell.  We ended up leaving the restaurant before I even had the chance to finish my pan-seared scallops with truffle-infused polenta.  “Oooh, yuck, do realize where that comes from?” my daughter, who won’t let me publish her name so we’ll just call her Mira, said, as I recounted the horrifying ordeal.  “That’s placenta,” I retorted, “and only available as a facial.”

Come to think of it, I could probably get rich selling tempered chocolate facials to the rich and the whacky.  Smear this on your face, cover with a chilled towel and in twenty minutes your face will re-crystallize and glisten.   Not a bad idea . . .  Read More…