Setting Limits

Right now it's eight in the morning and I'm in my home gym. I'm wearing sweats and a tank top, having just finished my morning workout--in fact, I'm still sweating as I write this. Just kidding--I'm actually dressed in a nightgown and sitting at the dining room table with my coffee and scrambled eggs--we don't even have a home gym. Kidding again! I'm really wearing a bathing suit because I'm going to jump into the hot tub as soon as I finish writing this. Just joshing... I go in naked and so I'm totally nude. Not really.... listen, it's none of your business what the heck I'm wearing or where the heck I'm sitting, or if I can walk while I'm talking or die when I'm walking. (That's from "Tootsie"-- my son knows.)

Do me a favor and do not Skype me, as I have not downloaded that particular modern-day horror and have no plans to do so. My husband wants me to, so we can have video chats when he's away. Sorry, no can do. The only perk of his constant travel is that I can look like hell all the time; there is no way I am getting all gussied up to talk into a computer. And this morning's paper describes a new invention called telyHD that will "transform Skype video-chats into room-size experiences." The possibilities are endless: Mitch and I could chat while I'm vacuuming or cleaning the toilet or preparing dinner and he's stretched out on his hotel room bed, relaxing and watching me work, just like he'd be doing at home but with room service.

Call me madcap, but I'm not doing it. I have embraced about as much technology as I can embrace. Skype is my line in the sand. Call me.