I thought you said this barrel was a women's medium. Feels a little tight to me.

I know people (and you may even be one of them), who--after deciding to enjoy a nice, long, luxurious bath--carefully set the faucet temperature for optimum relaxation and skin puckerage. When it's just right, they light a few candles, put on some jazz-to-be-alone-to, and slide into the perfectly-adjusted and slightly scented water.

I, on the other hand, prefer to twist the hot water tap wide open, walk away to do something else until the tub threatens to overflow and steam is hanging visibly in the air, and then return, disrobe and unceremoniously plunge my foot into the scalding water. I do this every damn day.

I then stand naked next to the tub, hoping up and down on my scorched foot, as I add enough cold water to keep from boiling myself alive.

There are also, as I understand, folks who are able to assess the various opportunities that come their way and to differentiate between those that comfortably fit within the scope of their real life, and those that represent too much of an additional commitment--either in time, effort, money--or some combination thereof.

No surprise--I can't do this either.

So, as is my long-established pattern, I will now begin the bi-annual process of looking for bodies to throw overboard. Since I've found that this procedure goes so much more smoothly if someone volunteers, please drop me an email if I've recently said something to you along the lines of, "of course it's no trouble; I'm happy to do it."

I will, however, put you at the top of the list for the next time I decide to overextend myself. I expect the wait to be about six months.