A lingering effect of my parents' decision to move the family to Phoenix when I was 12: I love the smell of wet dust in the air when it rains in the desert. It's kind of . . . you know.
I will leave it at that, as this is Not That Kind of Blog; plus it's Lent, and I've already been to confession once and I don't want to have to go again.
On the other hand, I have to go again anyway as part of my penance. Every three weeks! Ai yi yi. (For the same sin, my boyfriend had to say three Our Fathers. But remember: There's no such thing as patriarchy!)
Plus, it's Celebration of Female Desire week.
And I'm not a very good Catholic.