Perhaps some of you come to this blog for writing advice (though mostly what I can offer is recommendations of books I've loved or enthusiasm for authors I love...or consolation along this hard journey). Perhaps some of you come to see whether I'm still dancing (yes, I am—waltzing with smooth-shoes John Larson and rumba-ing with DanceSport owner and choreographer supreme Scott Lazarov), gardening (less than I should, but I've got glamorous purples out there this season), and writing (for every 2,000 words I wrestle to the page, I throw another 10,000 away; please don't let that discourage you in your own endeavors). Perhaps you even come for recipes, but I don't actually use or know that many recipes; I feel my way toward my dishes and have never once embarked on a stacked cake, as my friend Kate Moses regularly does, while writing best-selling books with her other hand.
But what I am about to offer you today is better than all of that, better than anything. I am about to offer you some housekeeperly advice. Are you ready?
(Get ready.)
Mr. Clean Magic Eraser totally rocks!!!
(that's it, that's the advice)
I mean, there I was, week after week, trying to get rid of the aftershock of too many hands around a doorknob, and all I ever truly needed was a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. This little item does it all, and I can look fashionable when I use it, thanks to Jan Shaeffer's recent gift of Gloveables...they're lovable (look them up, if you haven't seen them already).
So that's it. That's what this zany-Zumba-dancing-diva-only-sometimes-half-good-writer-with-the-enviable-irises is offering today.
Take it.
Or leave it.
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