Saturday

Among the things I miss most about the People's News Agency (besides the Friday red wine binges, the unlimited Mattoni, and the bipolar security guard) is the women's section of the Wall Street Journal.

It almost doesn't feel like Saturday without it. I'd bring the paper home from the office (Stepan didn't mind, provided I let him skim it for good deals on Greek islands first) then lounge around on Saturday morning, sipping my coffee and reading about all the things of interest to the average European woman - Alpine ski destinations, yacht rentals, designer jewelry, art auctions, liposuction, Parisien cooking schools, European men, pork futures.

Not only am I short of Saturday reading material, I no longer have newspaper with which to clean my windows (or wrap fish, but I only wrap fish when I'm giving it as a gift, and I gave that up after the last time - what can I say, on the East coast of Canada, first anniversaries are paper, second are cotton, third are flat fish. How was I to know it wasn't universal?).

It's Saturday, though, and the only paper in the house is a copy of The Jackson County Star that's under my houseguest's litterbox. Here's hoping it hasn't come to that.