You're just a buffet, you're a vegetable.

As a child, my lovely wife rebelled against the groovy vibrations of her hippie upbringing by developing a taste for white flour, refined sugar, and all the other disgustingly mainstream-American grocery staples. Now that she's a parent herself, the karma is of course on the other foot; nothing like having a child of your own to put things in perspective. She tries her best to keep Genevieve's diet healthful, although G is already showing a pronounced distaste for vegetables -- tomorrow we'll be making fruit smoothies with kale mixed into them, in a desperate attempt to get some iron into her. But Marla herself still has a fondness for white bread, French's yellow mustard and McDonald's that I'm proud -- OK, smug -- to say I do not share.

Our differences in taste extend into the bathroom. I'm a Tom's of Maine man. Marla prefers Crest, despite my attempts to guilt-trip her with tales of Procter & Gamble's experiments on animals. But I was horrified for a very different reason when she brought home the latest tube. As someone whose life and livelihood are threaded with a deep love for the English language, I was utterly appalled at the label that read "Whitening Expressions Extreme Herbal Mint". I mean, I hardly know where to begin. I look at that and my brain just starts sputtering with six different flavors of indignation.

Whitening Expressions Extreme Herbal Mint. What the! How can! But I! Of all!

In other news, my friend Tim and I made jackamalanterns last night. Here are the two I made, before and after dark.