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Barbie Schmarbie

As a little girl, I lived vicariously through my Barbie. When she wore her Bob Mackie halter gown, I was a disco queen. When she rode the elevator to the top of her three-story town home, I was a lady of leisure. And when she began making out with ripple-chested Malibu Ken on a pile of polyester pantsuits, well, it was time for me to pack Barbie away and focus my attention on the cover boys of Tiger Beat magazine.

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Floss This

I’m going to tell you a secret, but you have to promise it won’t leave this page. Because it’s kind of gross, and sure to damage my standing among the more hygienic members of society: I don’t floss. I just don’t. And I’m tired of apologizing for it.

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My columns are collected in three lovely books, which make a SPLENDID gift for wives, friends, book clubs, hostesses, and anyone who likes to laugh!
Keep Your Skirt On
Wife on the Edge
Broad Assumptions
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