Best Birthday Memories

Birthdays are about making memories with your family.  Here's two that really stick out for me.

My 12th birthday, my Dad bought me a Holly Hobby Diary.  My very first diary.  I was presented with the task now of writing out my innermost secrets and thoughts and had to devise a very methodical way of hiding the diary from my brother.  I still remember jumping into my parents bed in the morning telling them, "It's my birthday."  Of course, they knew that.

Mom gave some Avon perform in a pretty sheperd girl decanter, Dad gave me the diary.

Now when I read my inner most thoughts, I laugh at the entries.

"I hate piano.  I really hate piano.  No one knows how much I hate piano," and so on for an entire page.

"I just saw my brother pick his nose.  He is the most disgusting person ever!"

and my favorite:

"I know why the girls in the 8th grade have FAT purses, it is because they have SANITARY NAPKINS in there.  I want a fat purse."  Little did I know.

My other favorite memory was sitting with my Dad on my birthday at a bar in Ocean City and he proclaims that we both need to purchase KENO (the local lottery) tickets.  So we write out our numbers, 5 of them.  Then watch the bouncing balls as they hit the screen.

"I won a dollar!"  My Dad exclaims!
"Me too!"  I look at him in surprise.

How did we pick the same numbers?  We played our birthdays and our age.  Great minds think alike!

His:  6   26   31  65
Mine:  6  29  65  31

Too bad we didn't get the 5th number - we'd be rich.

Birthday's are about being with the people you love and having a great time.  Making new memories to add to the old ones!

What's your favorite birthday memory?

Happy Birthday - You Feelin Smarter?

Today's the day I can finally ditch the fake ID, I've been worrying so long about getting caught.  Everyone says a birthday is not about getting older it is about celebrating life.  According to Oprah.com, you do become smarter as you age.  I could have told you that.

Did you know that as you get older your brain's hemispheres sync up.  That older people make better decisions not because they've already learned from all the stupid shit they've done in their lives but because their brains are working on all cylinders than younger people.

Add in a few cocktails and we may be back on the same playing field as the young kids.

As you get older your brain is still growing.  Not only does this make me feel much better about the poor souls in there last night that I killed, but perhaps the "seemed like a good idea at the time" adventure when I was 26 will finally be replaced.

The emotional state in our brains matures and evens out as we get older - giving us a rosier outlook on life.  I was under the impression that the self medication approach I was taking was causing the phenomenon, who would have guessed it?

As we get older our social intelligence expands, due to life experience and maturity.  According to the Journal of Geriontology, older people when presented with interpersonal situations often choose the path of least conflict.  Conflict usually spills the martini - just sayin.

Studies show that as we get older, our perspective on time changes, due to the knowledge that our time on this Earth is growing smaller.  Older people spend more time with friends and family they care about because they've already all the sides to your personality before, and family can't get rid of you.

As we age, are always adding knowledge and abilities.  Yes, that does make us smarter.  Teaching firecracker safety with a lit cigarette in the mouth = not a good idea.  Remember that.  Oh, and the ability to make a killer Orange Crush - add that to your knowledge and abilities.

You gain control of your emotions.  As we age, we move quickly through the, "ain't nobody got time for thatI like to term it, we move into the "we don't give a shit" stage.

Finally, you become an instant expert at many things - as you experience things in life your brain develops schemas, or roadmaps that help you recognize and respond to similar situations.  Honestly, I thought it was the beer that made me an expert.

Thank you Oprah for pointing that there is a benefit to getting older - it makes you smarter!

If that is not working for you here's a few great mental exercises:

1.  Say your children's names in order, yes, their real names not the ones in your mind.

2.  Just for the heck of it, determine your ovulation cycle.

3.  Balance your checkbook, well, never mind that would depress anyone.

4.  Count out your medication for the month, then separate by day.

5.  Count your blessings - it will improve your mind and your spirit.

Link to the full Oprah.com article:  http://www.oprah.com/health/Aging-Brain-Facts-Do-You-Get-Smarter-as-You-Age/2

Life's a Beach - Would you like Tomato with that SANDwich?

I am a mountain girl.  Give me cooler weather, less humidity and specifically NO SAND.  I swear, sand can get everywhere at the beach.  Here's a few facts about sands:

If your baby has chubby rolls on their body, the sand becomes like glue, no amount of bathing will get the sand out of these crevices.

For some reason, babies are the only human beings on this planet that think sand tastes good.

There is always that kid at the beach that thinks it is cool feeding the sea gulls, and that child is directly in front of you----meaning, all the sea gull butts are pointed in your direction as they fight for that Frito.

There is a direct correlation between the amount of wind at the beach and how many kids with flip flops walk by your blanket.

There is another direct correlation between how much you don't feel like getting in the water and kids with sandy feet walking across your blanket.

Always, remember to applaud the lifeguard with everyone else at the beach when you child is saved, better yet make sure you hand your beer to your friend before you get up and run to the water's edge.

If you leave your chair unprotected, even for a few seconds, someone with a sopping wet bathing suit will plop their butt into your chair and soak it.

Remember that kid in front of you feeding the sea gulls?  That's the same kid that picks up his sand filled towel and times his shaking it with the huge gust of wind.

It is usually your child that throws off the pound of sand from their towel directly into the face of the person downwind from you - it is your job to act as if nothing happened.

Having wind at the beach helped us come up with some new terms for sand:

Sandbar - the swimming sand in the bottom of your cooler, that gets into your beer.

Cheese Sandoodling - the sound of that crunch of the cheese doodle covered with sand.

Sandoo - this is a new type of hair sculpting done usually at the beach with wind and sand.

SANDwich - down South - a tomato, mayonnaise, white bread with a healthy dose of wind sand.

Sand Castle - that family that has to hit the beach at 436am to build their compound complete with the 200 dollar tent that no one is sitting under.

Sandfoliate - the act of exfoliating your skin while applying suntan lotion at the beach.

Sandpaper - no not the cheap roll someone bought at the dollar store, but the pages of your book once a big gust of wind blows through.

Most fun a Mom can have at the beach - when she is ALONE!

Happy Summer Days.

I am getting old - Vajazzle?

Sometimes you are taught things that stick with you, or should I say stick on you.  Today I learned about Vajazzle - and I thought you, dear readers could help me process this information.

Vajazzle,  definition please.

Vajazzle, a new form of body art where decorative jewels are fastened to the vagina.  So here's where I'm a little stuck----pun intented.

How are the beads stuck to the vagina.  Are they super glued and therefore have a short shelf life, or are they permanently attached, where your beautiful butterfly vajazzle turns into a hawk with a fish hanging from its beak due to gravity?

Are the beads smooth?  If they are real jewels, with values and edges, then do they get stuck on stuff?  What if you have to go to the bathroom really bad and your panties are stuck on a vajazzle---do you rip them or rip, well......

And what about the fun we like to have, not just vajazzling?  Will it cut you?  Will it cut them?  What if a bead falls off during the process, if it has value - who gets to keep it?

I am assuming from the pictures I've seen, vajazzling requires no hair.  Wouldn't it be cool to create a fairy vajazzle, where the jewels are little fairies peeking out of the bushes?

If you are smooth as a baby's bottom for your vajazzling session - how do you stay smooth?  Tweezers?

What about the single girl and the vajazzle?  How do you explain that to the new man in your life, "Prepare to be dazzled!"  I can only imagine the look on his face on your wedding night when he sees your vajazzle of black and white "Just Married!"

I so enjoy my time at the OB, so much so that I think I need to spend a few hours with someone I don't know staring intently at my hoohee holding tiny little jewels?  Yes, that will make me very comfortable.

How did they come up with vajazzling.  Did someone look at their bedazzle kit, naked, then look at their vagina and think, "I need to staple a few of these beads there, wouldn't THAT be FUN?"

When these exciting new trends surface, they remind me that I am getting old.  Old because my vagina looks pretty good as is, I don't need to vaginercize it into shape, nor do I need to vajazzle covering up a few wrinkles.  I am lucky to have a great man in my life that thinks my personality sparkles enough.

But I can't help but think, what's next boobazzle?

Tittazzling?

Advice for dealing with Feral Children

The other day, I was sitting and relaxing at an outdoor cafe, enjoying the quiet when I heard a waiter say to a table next to me, "Be careful when you leave, there's a band of feral children roaming the docks."  Of course, I paid my bill quietly, and slid out the side door of the restaurant so no one would see that they are actually my children.

Feral - a domestic animal that has turned wild.

Here's some facts about Feral Children:

Feral Children are left by parents -  usually on docks while they party in boats, on the beach while they party at the beachside bar, or in the mall while they try on underwear.  These children are recognized by the wild look in their eyes, the disheveled hair, and the powdered doughnut sugar caked on their side of their lips..


You cannot catch a feral child like a normal child.  You cannot call them and they will come to you.  You must coax a feral child with something they understand, and open Butterfinger, or a line of Skittles.

Feral Children are usually not indigenous to the area and when introduced can cause harm - they are known to trample local flora and fauna, decimate the sugar stores and usually taint the water supply.

Feral Children have been blamed for the extinction of 26 species - including the "responsible child," the "well behaved child" and a long extinct candy called, "Zots."

Feral Children left unchecked are known to multiply by pulling often domesticated children into their Gang or Band.  Domesticated Children should be kept inside with a book or tempted by a game of pinocle if there is a Feral Child in the area.

Feral Children - if you show them attention they will not leave.  They are known to break every knob off your boat, knock over drinks at that beachside getaway and even follow you in the mall making fatrt noises..

If you need to scare a Feral Child away, offer them a healthy alternative to their diet of Skittles, Ice Cream and Soda, especially something like "milk."

Keeping Feral Children away from a restaurant table is a little more difficult, many claim saying "I have no more money," does the trick, we have found they will then attempt to eat from your basket of fries.

Keeping a Feral Children away from your home is as easy as putting out a tub of clean bath water, we're not sure what bath water does to them but it is a great deterrent.

Feral Children are descents of domesticated humans left by travelers.  Sometimes the travelers come back and claim their children, many times the children find their parents again and attach themselves to them again.

History of Feral Children:

Feral Children were introduced into the wild to control the population of local humans.  Originally, their behavior was used to scare any teenagers from having children, and to help local parents understand the effect of children on the local population.

When the population of Feral Children exploded, a local Predator was introduced to help control them. It is called the school and is known to corral Feral Children for their introduction into humanity.  If you spot Feral Children in the wild and School is not available, a safe alternative is Vacation Bible School.

We cannot help all Feral Children, sometimes there are those few that slip through the cracks.  These children blend into society as Dixie Classic Ride Park Operators, Lemonade Stand operators, or possibly,  hand models.

Keep your children close, don't let the Feral Children influence you.  Make the right decisions!

How Dads Lie - and why!

How can you say no or parents are really good at lying….

Parents must take acting classes as part of the secretive manual everyone is not talking about.  What manual?  Oh, if you haven’t gotten the manual yet then you are not part of the club.  There is an entire chapter to getting away with those lies that preserve the sanity of the family.

Our was on a trip to Florida, where the family would pile into the cadillac (my father was a Cadillac sales man, we were that family with no money but a brand new cadillac parked in the driveway) and drove down to Florida for our yearly Disney trip.  Mom and Dad in the front with us kids piled in the back or sometimes, Mom and Dad and my littlest sister in the front, with us three kids with ugh! Grandmom in the backseat - I think this was done to keep us in line.  (She always threatened to touch us with her dentures if we didn’t behave on the trip)

Which made us little angels.

For a little while.

My father’s acting skills were called into question on one of those Florida trips, sweating on the leather seats, playing the slap game, pulling each other’s hair until our parents couldn’t take it anymore and the shining oasis of the highway appeared.

The roadside zoo.

As kids we didn’t notice that technically, it was in someone’s back yard, and most of the animals look like really tired farm animals, but everybody grabbed the brass ring and piled out of the car for “the zoo.”

This obviously was before the days of PETA because two of the major attractions for at the zoo were the “drumming duck” and the “dancing chicken.”  The only two in the zoo that cost money, of which we begged my Dad for money, over…..and over….and over...again.  Now, as an adult, I kind of feel sorry for the chicken because obviously he was standing on a hot plate and each quarter fed into the lmachine, turned the plate on and made him “dance.”  The road side zoo was probably some place for washed up street performing animals thinking they were going out to pasture but ending up on hot plates and such.

I found the monkey while my brother and sister were up to $16 on the “dancing chicken.". The monkey was in a little cage hidden in the back.  A small spider monkey, brown, with very sad looking eyes, sort of like a little squirrel but with a much longer tail and better agility.  He looked so excited to see me, he jumped from a tree in the back of the cage to the front.

It was almost like serendipity because just as he reached his little hand between the bars of the cage and touched my hand, I looked up and noticed the “For Sale” sign.

We were meant to be.  I could see it now.

We would be best friends.  He could sleep next to me in the bed.  Ride on my shoulder on my bike.  I’d teach him how to use the toilet, he could sit next to me at the dinner table.

In that single touch I saw an entire future with Toby and me - my new best friend.

One problem.

I had no money. 

But I had parents.

I ran and pulled my Dad over to the monkey cage, “Look Dad!  He’s for sale!”

My Dad looked in the cage, watched the monkey take some feces from his butt and fling them to the bottom of the cage, then look over to me.  I’m sure my Dad for a second, thought, “well, $20 in pretty cheap” but then common sense took over, he could see the monkey throwing feces around the car, wiping it on the leather seats, biting us, spitting in my mother’s face.  I only saw my best friend.

“I’ll take care of him, I’ll do EVERYTHING.  You don’t have to worry about anything! I’ll clean him, and make clothes for him, he’ll sleep in my room, you won’t even know here’s there!  PUUUUHHHHLLLEEEAAASSEEEE?”

The monkey, as if on cue, reached out and his tiny fingers wrapped around my finger as if sealing the bond.

At this point most Dads who haven’t read the secret parenting manual would think, “I am screwed.  This damn monkey is going to ruin my vacation because said child is going to be crying about how evil I am for not freeing him from his cage for only $20.”

I’m watching my Dad, thinking that I may have an “in” that he is mulling it over.

He’s thinking of a way to get out of it.  “Let’s go look at the other animals.”

Thinking I need to be an angel to get my monkey, I follow him through the zoo.  Looking at some very tired bears snoring under a tree.  Petting a miniature horse, I say, “He’s too big to put in the car, see the money is so much smaller.”  My Dad sighs.

We end up back at the monkey cage, and I am pulling out all the stops, I am not crying about how we are already best friends, and I can’t leave my best friend behind!  My brother has finished his $20 in quarters with the chicken and is walking over, “Cool!  A Monkey.”

Toby, throws some feces at my brother and I’m saying to my Dad, “He’s just kidding with John.  I told him that he won’t give me any of his candy on the drive.”  I look over to the monkey, “Toby, be a good monkey!”

I’m thinking maybe I have him, that I am taking my best friend home when my father pulls the white lie out of his butt, sort of like the monkey pulling the feces from his own.  But it the perfect lie, it dashes my hopes, gives him a reason for not buying the monkey, and keeps everyone happy.

“The hotel down in Florida doesn’t allow monkeys, honey.  What would we do with Toby for 2 weeks?”

I stop crying and think for a minute, hmmm, what will we do with him for 2 weeks?  Friendships like the ones in Middle school sometimes are not meant to be, “Oh man, maybe we can stop here on the way back and buy him?”

My Dad brightens up, “Yes, maybe.”  In his mind he’s thinking, “hell no.”

I grab his hand, loving my Dad for thinking about buying me a monkey, wave goodbye to Toby, “Goodbye Toby.”  He’s too busy picking his nose, he turns away.

That’s how Dads do it, they preserve the family dynamic with a small lie here and there.  They want to give their children everything but are the voice of reason, thinking through all those things that us Moms just jump right into.  The ying to our yang.

As we walked out the front of the zoo, my brother looks into the chicken booth, “Hey look!  The chicken laid an egg!”

Crab Eating Etiquette

Now us Marylanders know how to eat some crabs.  And bringing my Southern friends to a crab feast made me think about crab eating etiquette (there is a really bad joke behind this but I'll keep it clean today) because they broke the first rule of crab eating:


You do not interrupt anyone when they are right in the middle of pulling out a huge chuck of back fin (white meat) with a question.  Especially, "Why do you eat these things?"

A person's vinegar/butter/Old Bay dipping ramekin is their personal property.  We do not share this because we are spending a time double dipping with each delicious find.  If that gives you the heebies with chips and dip, stay far away from the dish in front of a crab eater.

Do not beat the crab to death - AGAIN.  It is already dead, you do not have to kill it.

No, we do not give away our claws, they are our claws, and some usually save them to the end.  Do not ask, "Are those for me?"  Because they will be polite and say yes, then kick you out of the moving car LATER.

You can tell a newbie to eating crabs by how many paper towels they go through.  Great crab eaters wait until the end, lick off the Old Bay and THEN clean their hands.

Crabs do not talk when they are dead, do not pick them up and apologize to them before eating them.  Really, they can't hear you.

Do not believe a word we say, especially when interrupting us with questions, we'll answer like, "Sure, go ahead and eat the green stuff - it is the best part of the crab, all the minerals and sh*t."

Yes, we drink cheap beer, the cheaper the better (Natty Boh anyone) it just does not look right to take a small sip of Stella with Old Bay crusted fingers, leaving a reddish swipe down the bottle.  Now on a small cheap mug of Natty Boh - it looks perfect!  Don't look shocked when we lick the red swipe of old bay/crab grease from the side of the mug - it tastes great mixed with beer.

Do not use words like, "Ewww" or "Ugh" or "Yuck" when eating crabs - you will not be invited back.

Knives are for clearing guts out of crabs, not cutting your Caesar salad or buttering your bread, like condiments they are personal property until the crab eatin is done.

And finally, yes, your fingers will smell like Old Bay for the rest of the night - when you see crab eaters sniffing their fingers and smiling, they are simply reliving the experience.

And finally, do not get mad when we neglect to tell you to wash your hands before wiping your eyes/nose/other parts.  Everyone has to have that newbie Old Bay sting experience.  You'll laugh at the next one.

Anything missed Maryland friends?

Disclaimer:  If you came here looking for ways to get rid of your crabs, That Grey Area is not responsible for any bodily harm.  This page is intended for the crab eating crowd, not the crowd getting crowd....that's another post......later.

Smooth Criminals - NOT!

There are three things you need to know if life according to my Dad, a great martini, how to tie a tie and the perfect poker face.  Unfortunately, my children haven't learned a single one of them - especially the poker face.  When it comes to smooth criminals, well, let's just say they have their Mom's genes.

But let me back up.

It all started with a dolphin.  In a garage.

Yep.

I was walking to my car when a nice non serial killer looking family asked me if I liked dolphins.

"Why, yes, one of the girls staying with us loves dolphins," I replied.

"We won one at the boardwalk, would you like it," Non serial killer Dad asked.

"Sure," I replied.

They opened their trunk and sitting there was a 6 foot stuffed dolphin along with a very sad non serial killer looking kid saying, "I won it, but it doesn't fit."

What could I say?  WTF, where am I going to put that.

The devil in me thought, "Oh this is great.  I'll give it to Abby then laugh all the way to Beaufort watching Maria trying to fit the damn thing everywhere."

I took the dolphin.  And that's where the adventure begins.

The dolphin made it up to our beach condo, the dolphin was claimed by my son (WHAT?) and they played with the dolphin.  The dolphin didn't make it ten minutes before he suffered a mortal wound to the side, tiny little white balls (my kids laugh here) oozing from the cut.

Did I tell you that the stuffing of cheap stuffed animals is this tiny little balls, but they are like the glitter of a Mom's World.  They get out and get everywhere and you are finding them years later in places you never imagined.  Well, when our dolphin suffered his mortal wound, I immediately told the kids to take him down to the dumpster and get rid of him gangsta style.

Fast forward, I am sitting out on my back balcony, 4 floors up with Maria and I look out.  "Well look, it looks like it is snowing."

We both watch the white travel up in the wind (there is a nice steady 30 MPH wind at the beach) and it gets a little thicker coming up on the balcony.  It takes me a second because my mind is thinking glitter before I realize

"It's the stuffing of the dolphin!"  I run over and look over the balcony and there is my son taking the dolphin to the dumpster (ok, maybe he's riding the dolphin like a bronco to the dumpster, the stuffing pouring out the side of the poor thing)  The white stuffing is being picked up by the wind and swept up the side of the building onto balconies, into my hair.  I

It gets worse when he tries to stuff the dolphin into the small dumpster, it obviously doesn't fit, but spews more stuffing everywhere.  Many are looking over their balconies, a few drunk college kids yelling, "It's snowing at the beach!"

Here's where our kids would make terrible criminals.  Abby comes running into the condo, through the screen and all to tell us that the boys are getting that stuff everywhere.  Both boys come running in saying their heard maintenance on the phone about the mess, what do we do?

What should I do?  I should make them go down to maintenance and apologize for the mess, explaining that the dolphin was going to the dumpster - indicated by the path of white stuffing in the elevator down to the lobby, through the front doors, along the front of the building, down the side and into the dumpster.

No, I tell them to sweep all the stuffing from our front door down to unit 418 while I vacuum up everything in the condo.

So they worry that they'll get arrested.  I play it up saying that a MD number just called my phone, which actually gets them to clean the condo a little bit better.

And if security or maintenance was unsure about which condo the stuffing came from, I tried to pin it on the group of college kids in 118 looking over the balcony saying, "It's snowing."  But I'm sure it's obvious in the scared faces from 4 kids looking very guilty over the railing as they watched maintenance clean up their crime.

A good martini, tie a great tie, and learn a good poker face.

We've got a little work to do.

Things That Freak Me Out!

I am supposed to be relaxing.  So to get my blood pumping, here's a list of things that freak me out:

1.  Pouring the water in the coffee maker and it ending up on the counter instead.

2.  Pour a cup of coffee from the maker and dumping most of it on the kitchen table.

3.  Shredding something with the box shredder and getting my knuckles closer and closer to the shredder.

4.  Getting the floss stuck between my teeth and having to pull it out the long way.

5.  Putting my feet on the floor in the middle of the night, and feeling something brush my ankle.

6.  Having to play "doctor" to some type of bleeding cut on my children.

7.  Having to clean a dinkleberry off the butt of my dog.

8.  Fishing the tiny little bug out of my glass of wine..

9.  That nice chomp of grit when you eat spinach, or anything at the beach.

10.  Anything wet on or around a toilet seat - especially a public bathroom.  Even if the paper towels are above the toilet, it still freaks me out.

11.  Oh and there's the garbage disposal - will you leave the spoon in there?

What freaks you out?

A Real Man - Pre Father's Day Fun

Sure I can stare at Brad Pitt all way, or send pictures of Fast and Furious to my friends.  But how do you define a real man?

Bounce a brick off his abs?  Smoldering eyes that skewer you with just a stare?  Steel arms that wrap around you?  Here's That Grey Area's Verison of a "Real Man."

Pre - K

Standing there with baby throw up down the front of his shirt and laughing about it.

Changing a diaper and forgetting to cover the money shot and paying for it.

Laying on the couch with a child asleep on his chest and not asking for a thing.

Getting quietly out of bed on a Sunday morning and taking the little ones for a "doughnut run."


Holding a small child who just learned how to use the potty all by himself and wiping his behind.

Holding that same child while he is sleeping and simply shrugging when he's peed on saying, "Well, at least it is family pee."

Putting together ANYTHING - lego ship, bicycle, grill with two willing "helpers" and actually getting the job done.


Explaining that all this "healthy food" Mommy made is "good for us" so let's go ahead and clean our plates (without even a look of disgust)

Allowing all of his T-shirts to turn into a nice light pink because "someone" was in a hurry and forgot about the red kids shorts thrown in the wash.

Standing and watching the nice temper tantrum roll around on the floor without looking at Mom and saying, "What is his problem?"

Stepping on a Lego in the middle of the night and not waking the whole house with a scream.





Not slapping the child when you ask him to do laundry and he says, "I didn't put detergent in because I didn't know where it was supposed to go."

Not killing the child because everything of his that the child touches for some reason becomes broken.

Not getting mad when every single remote in the home disappears and then reappears with dead batteries.

Baiting a hook, because this semi-vegetarian can't even kill a worm!

Remaining calm when everything disappears from his toolbox to strangely end up at the Rock Fort.

Spending every Father's Day cooking his own meal on the grill, because no one does it better than Dad.

Running behind that bike for two Sunday mornings (separate years) and yelling, "You have to pedal for it work.  Pedal!"

Taking one child  out to breakfast and "the talk" and telling you that the main point is "respect."

Taking one look at your Boudoir shots from 1929 and saying, "you still look great!"

Sitting through games of Poker and not thinking twice that teaching the kids poker is a "bad thing."

Sitting watching my family argue over end of life decisions with a parent and keeping his mouth shut.

Singing "Dixie Chicken" by Little Feat to me.

And finally saying, "That's nice."  When I said, "I love you," for the first time - always keep them guessing.