Since this is senior citizen appreciation week on this blog, I'll tell you that when Margot and Greta were four and three, we were driving down Main Street in our town and, as part of some kind of Family Day, the nursing home had a bouncy castle set up in front of it. Margot looked out the window and said, "Hey, why is there a bouncy castle at the nursing home?" And Greta said, "Because old people are lucky." 

When it comes to accidents, area rugs are the trampolines of the senior citizen set. They are Things One and Two, living at Grandma's house, and occasionally doing that funny trick where One gets on his hands and knees behind her and Two gives her a push from the front. They take down people who shuffle when they walk, or those who are losing their muscle memory for things strewn around the floor in the house. Yet, to many seniors, a spread of area rugs is like soil, a porous, permeable, water-holding unsung hero, underfoot and essential to their survival. 

Though I've never set foot in the actual clinic of the orthopedic surgery practice that I "manage," I do overhear my husband ask patients over 75 if area rugs were present during unfortunate incidents in which they "took a fall" (people under this age are still allowed to "fall down"). "Yes," they chuckle, "but what would you have me do, remove them?," as they lean over to the person who drove them to the appointment and give a little elbow nudge, plus a "what an idiot!" eye roll.

So protect your loved ones and and roll up their "dare-ya" rugs during the dark of night, or while they are in the bathroom. Then, and this is important, remove and destroy them in a scorched-earth approach. If you simply put them in the basement, they will reappear, as though they've grown back. 

I learned a new word today and it's called "scutes." We've all seen scutes before, but we didn't know exactly what to call them. They're the small panels that our turtle Natasha wears to form the outer layer of her shell:

Turtle scutes have two things in common with human hair and nails.  One is that they are all primarily made up of keratin, a fibrous protein. The other commonality is that you don't want to find any of these items in your Moo Shi Chicken at a Chinese restaurant. Scutes are pretty gross, so let's try to think of them as presented in this image: 

I'm assuming that Natasha has scutes on her plastron but she's too modest to let us see what's going on beneath her bridge. 

When your turtle starts shedding scutes, it means that her shell is expanding with the rest of her body. In other words, Natasha is growing, which happened as soon as certain family members bought her a larger tank against my wishes. Natasha's shell, which she calls a "carapace" because it sounds more tony, has grown an inch longer since we bought the 20 gallon aquarium in March. All of this is getting under my skin, which I call an epidermis because is sounds more intellectual. 

But despite my protests, I think some people in my family secretly want Natasha to realize her full growth potential, which would require an unsightly 90 gallon tank. Someone carelessly left the website for the Tilda Swinton Aquaspan 90 up on the family computer. I see where this is heading. 

Sorry people, but our turtle Natasha is going to rear her/his red-eared head again in this post.  It's a delicate matter actually.  Bo asked us the other day if we had noticed that her water had become "milky."  

"Okay, I think this is on me," I said. "The other day, when I was giving her some milk, I got a little ahead of her and a bunch of it spilled into her turtle water."

"Wait," said Greta. "I think I may have accidentally made things worse. The other day, when I was milking Natasha, things got a little out of hand and I'm guessing her tank is now like a quarter turtle milk." 

I helped Margot move home from college last week and I couldn't be happier that she'll be here for the next three months.  Over the weekend we started to unpack and find places for her to put her stuff. In the process, I couldn't help but notice the essentials that I snuck into her luggage last fall, and I wondered which of these items she came to depend on the most:

Strap on head lamps (2) for vexing people at night.

Giant Pee Wee Herman Underpants (2), naturally.  

A Wiffle Bat (1) and Balls (2) for when you want to go outside and be social, but need an activity that validates your presence. This is the equivalent of doing The Bump with your friends at a school dance.

A giant roll of tickets (1), perfect for the impromptu raffling off of things from your dorm that don't belong to you.

A professional grade button maker (1) because no one else will have the ability to make and wear legit-looking buttons that advocate the "freeing" of people who are really not in any kind of pinch.

Yellow plastic police tape (1 roll), because the cordoning off of unpleasant college debris is always a hilarious come upon.

I've written about safe words three times now, which I believe constitutes a body of work. I also believe that having a body of work on safe words makes me an expert, which is a great thing because I'm being peppered with questions on the topic.

Just today, an acquaintance called me for help with her mother, who has become increasingly loud in social situations, interrupting her daughter and continually trying to be the center of attention. After reading my body of work, they agreed that a safe word might decrease their public run-ins, but they were having trouble selecting the perfect one.

"Okay, let's start by ruling out the word cairn," I suggested, "which is the worst sounding word in the English language."  

"Right," she agreed. "How do you feel about palomino?" 

"It's a really good one," I said. "But unfortunately, it's already taken."

"Oh no," she said. "So, where do we go from here?" 

"I think that you should consider the word gimlets," I weighed in. "It's fun to say, and in my experience, senior citizens tend to relax when they hear it."  

"I'll run it by her and let you know," she said before she hung up.

I hate to jinx it, but I'm thinking that I really nailed a great safe word for them. Now, armed with gimlets, my friend can sit back and appreciate a courtesy hush if her mother raises a stink.

I'd like to clear things up about my use of the term "safe word" yesterday. I thought it was obvious that I meant it in a non-carnal context. But eyebrows were lifted, so I did a little on-line research and the results were also hair-raising. That said, if anyone wants to learn about the crucial role of a Dungeon Monitor, just sing out.

No, I was talking about safe words for more conventional relationships, when one or both people agree ahead of time to use a word or words that would bring them up short -- no judgments made and no questions asked. When you hear your safe word, it's supposed to stop you in your tracks. I have a safe word with my readers, "chicken-baby," which is to be put in action if I ever use my blog as a teaching moment.

My safe word with Julie is "spruce" which is employed at times of extreme silliness. These times could also be described as: over the top, dangerous or humiliating. Costumes increase our chances for safe word use, especially if we are wearing our rubber butts in public. "Spruce" originated after an incident outside of a Christmas tree seller in the city. The following day, we agreed that it would be a good safe word for me because the vendor was selling spruces, it sounds like "truce," and it reminds me that the manner in which I am conducting myself could use some sprucing. 

This shot captures the moment when mistakes were made 

and "Spruce" was born. 

Getting back to yesterday's blog, I'm proud to share that I haven't been spruced in months, but I guess that doesn't matter to people who are rooting against me being the guy who lives to be 150 years old.