The B-list: THINGS I SHOULD CARE ABOUT BUT DON'T

• Parabens. Though I have started checking labels before I buy, I could eat L'Occitane hand cream for dessert. I don't much care if there's kangaroo dung in it.

• Kaipo, our miniature parrot. The thing might live thirty years. But I'm sorry, anything that poops in its own bed is Buggledaddy's domain.

• Our "emergency kit," completely inaccessible in our junkyard garage, that consists of an economy pack of Ivory soap and a roll of paper towels. We'll be the cleanest survivors ever.

• My recent, unconscionable neglect of my feet. If I'm suddenly broke and homeless I can earn spare change by demonstrating to pedestrians the Velcro-like action of my heels.

• Our inexcusable lack of grown-up documents. Every time Buggledaddy and I go away for a couple of days I'm up late the night before, scrawling notes about where to leave the kids in case I don't make it back. This is why I'm going to get hit by a bus a block away from home.

• Buggleboy's finger sucking. My mother's direly pessimistic world view has for the first time proved useful. "Don't worry about it," she said. "Your kids are destined for orthodontia no matter what you do."

• Sports. Poor Bugglehubby. The only reason I go to any game is to nosh on hot dogs. And perhaps to rip on the dancing girls.

• Our next president. I know, I can feel your ire through cyberspace. But unless he's delivering a basket of Snookie's Cookies and a per-diaper-change compensation check, que sera, sera.
  

• American Idol. I could sit on my high horse right now but for the fact that I am completely up to date on Kim Kardashian's sex life. Look out for more trash t.v. in next week's "THINGS I SHOULDN'T CARE ABOUT BUT DO."