Flotsam

First, let me ask my inane reproductive question of the day:
Spotting on Letrozole–normal or not? I have quite a lot of cramping and bloating, which I expected, but the spotting baffles me. I finished my Letrozole yesterday, it is day 8, and still, the light spotting continues. My E2 levels should be rising by now, but then I know Letrozole inhibits the aromatization of estrogen…perhaps that would cause the spotting? Or perhaps it is a side effect of all the cramping? I could find no information about this via Google, and didn’t even find much about people spotting on stims. I would call my clinic, but they won’t tell me anything, rather they will insist upon having a nurse call me back, which is utterly useless as I am at work and the last thing I need is for the lead attorney sitting next to me to hear me discuss my vaginal discharge. Even I have my limits. And naturally, the clinic closes at 4 pm, making it impossible for me to call them after work. They might as well put it on their letterhead: “Really-expensive Medicine Center: Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You.”

But let’s move on.
I will have wedding pictures this weekend, and I am limp with excitement. Well, excitement tinged with fear about how the photos turned out. Will I be making odd faces that give me an underchin? Will the combination of my ivory dress and customary pallor conspire to make me look like the ghost of a murdered bride? Just how many pounds does the camera add? Only time will tell.

If nothing else, I am newly relieved that I was not married in the 1980s, and thus have some hope of looking at my wedding pictures in the future without feeling the urge to blind myself with a kitchen implement.
All week I have been glutting myself with reruns of Kate & Allie. This was my favorite show as a child, and I was curious to see whether it was as delightful as I remembered. As it happens, it has held up remarkably well.
Except in one respect:

I am embarrassed for them, just looking at this picture. And those outfits are less alarming than usual. I keep missing parts of the plot because I am transfixed by their wardrobe—Kate will saunter onscreen having donned a vigorously patterned sweatshirt with an elastic bottom that skims her knees, or Allie will sashay by in her bathrobe, which has shoulder pads, and I forget to listen to the dialogue. Even Scott was disturbed by the episode in which the women go dress shopping in preparation for Allie’s big date with a (very young) Kelsey Grammer. They try on several dresses, each more perplexingly hideous than the last, and Allie finally settles on a dress of blue silk with black tiger stripes, blousy sleeves, and shoulder pads. Scott sat frowning at the screen, while I shielded my eyes and cowered on the sofa, whimpering.
“What is she wearing?” he asked, sounding disgusted. And this from a man who still owns T-shirts from high school and hasn’t bought new jeans in five years.
In one episode, Allie buys a gift for a client, some sort of caftan she refers to as a “brunch burnoose.” It is, essentially, a large khaki sack, accessorized with one of those froufy silken ties that businesswomen wore with their powersuits. Honestly, it was the most bizarre item of clothing I have ever seen. I have been to brunch several times, myself, and have never donned such a garment.
I understand that fashions change. But in these troubled times, can’t we do away with relativism and instead agree that some things are just wrong? And that anything called a brunch burnoose is one of them?