About two months ago Greg and I started finding holes in our front yard. We have some bushes and flowers in front of our porch, and something decided to start digging in the dirt. The creature exhibited great determination. The soil had hardened into cement at that point because we hadn’t had rain in so long, yet the creature dug holes four or five inches deep. Initially, we thought it was trying to eat the tulip bulbs we planted last fall, but soon holes appeared in other areas.

We theorized that our night-time prowler might be a squirrel. But this engineering work looked too advanced for a mere rodent. Perhaps a deer? Do deer dig? It seemed unlikely.

Last week we met a neighbor of ours while we were out walking Abe. He was sprinkiling cayenne pepper around his bushes, and into some familiar-looking holes.

“Good evening,” we said, and then, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, someone told me this gets rid of armadillos,” our neighbor said. “They’re digging around my bushes, and I don’t want them to hurt the root systems.”

Aha! Apparently our friendly neighborhood armadillos dig into the soil looking for grubs. We haven’t tried the cayenne pepper yet, but I have offered to serve my in-laws some deep-fried armadillo for Thanksgiving.

I looked forward to trying a new lasagna recipe last night, but I lacked a few ingredients, so my plans were ruined. I didn’t know what to make for dinner. My options were few and grim — hot dogs, soup, or grilled cheese. I tend to become cranky (and — I admit — completely irrational) when I’m hungry, so Greg sent me out to walk Abe and said he would fix dinner.

Abe and I arrived home to find Greg making French toast. I looked at the bread soaking in its batter.
“I added a special ingredient,” Greg said. These words are my biggest fear. Greg is forever adding secret ingredients to his recipes. “Chocolate milk?” I asked skeptically. The batter looked too brown.

“No,” Greg said. “But that is a great idea!”

He walked toward the fridge to get the chocolate milk.

“No, please don’t add chocolate milk,” I pleaded.

Greg refused to tell me the secret ingredient until I tasted the French toast. It was tangy.
“I added buttermilk,” Greg revealed.

“That would explain the kick it has,” I said.

“And orange liquor,” Greg said. “A lot.”

As I kept chewing, I knew that Greg meant it when he said “a lot.”

I think he used liquor in place of eggs. While I was on the walk, Greg decided the best way to pull me out of my funk was to intoxicate me. He had hoped to do this secretly by feeding me mass quantities of wheat bread soaked in alcohol. Even after I was full, he pushed that toast at me. If nothing else, I think he was hoping he could make me forget about the lemon-flavored scrambled eggs he made during his first cooking experiment.

Greg and I went to the mall over the weekend. I’m appalled at the styles that the stores are trying to push back into fashion. Teenage girls in Nordstrom were shrieking with delight over slip-on Vans sneakers. Nearly every store is trying to convince us that we need tapered pants, which they mistakenly call skinny pants. Who looks skinny in these pants? Gap is running commercials with Audrey Hepburn, who is the only American woman ever to look good in the so-called skinny pants.

When we got home, I lamented to Greg about the “new” styles.

“I vaguely remember wearing these styles as I kid,” I said. “And they didn’t look good then. Why would anyone bring them back?”

“You know, the clothes from the ’80s seem really distinct,” Greg said. “But the ’90s don’t really seem like they had a style.”

“Yes, they did,” I argued. “What about the whole grunge thing? Everyone wearing big, flannel shirts?”

“But that’s just regular clothing,” Greg insisted. “That’s not a style.”

“Are you sure about that Greg?” I asked. “Or is it possible that since you grew up in the ’90s, you just thought that clothing was normal? Do you see people walking around in big, flannel shirts?”

Greg turned a little pink and stared at the ground. If Greg could, he would will flannel shirts back into style. Forest-green, flannel shirts. Not a bad idea actually. We’d be a lot more comfortable than we’re going to be walking around in those skinny pants.