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Clara Jane asked to take a nap when we got home. Parents with poor sleepers, you're welcome to kick me in the shins and my husband in the groin for that one. If you could see how Clara Jane presses her hand to the side of her face (the sign for "sleep") and sighs, "Seeeeep," you'd probably want to kick her, too. Or maybe just startle her. It's adorable and it makes me absurdly thankful that for the most part, I have the easiest child in the world.

She napped. I knitted. I've finally started working on my first sweater project. It's a darling little pink and pink varigated striped hoodie from the beautiful Nursery Knits. I finished the baby blanket I was knitting; now I just need to learn how to block it.

This afternoon, after making catering deliveries, I sat myself down and watched a rerun of "Oprah" regarding how women should release their inner sexpot. I've got some issues with this. And of course, you're going to hear them:

1. One week, Oprah is whole-heartedly agreeing with Trinny and Susannah that us gals need to give up the flimsy support-nothing underdrawers and go for the supportive granny garments that are ugly on the inside but pretty on the outside. Now Oprah's whole-heartedly agreeing with Kim Catrall that we need to ditch the granny panties and go with the thongs. Which one is it, Oprah? And why are you so interested in my underdrawers, anyway?

2. Don't tell me that I have an inner sexpot who's dying to get out. I had an inner sexpot, once, way back when. I killed her. She was crushed to death under the mounds of belly flab after the support system of my abdominals muscles was destroyed to retrieve the human being that was created by that inner sexpot. Ever see a front porch collapse with a hound dog under it? That's what happened to her. And just to make really sure she's dead, I suffocate her every day with my granny panties.

3. Frumpy, balding men who are still wearing their circa 1983 Member's Only jackets in a non-ironic way who complain that their wives are no longer the slutty little dreamboats who wooed them into marriage need to be crushed under a porch. Or they need to experience first-hand the inner-thigh chafing that happens when you wear a G-string and hump a pole to your Carmen Electra's Aerobic Striptease DVDs.

I'm not feeling very empowered right now, Oprah.

I'm supposed to go to the zoo tomorrow, but I'm thinking about cancelling. I'm going to call in fat and frumpy. You know you're feeling fat and frumpy when you don't feel glam enough to go to the zoo.