Yesterday, I read an article by a woman who described how her now ex-husband asked for a divorce over IM. Yikes. That is the lowest of the low break-up scenario. I'm certain. It even tops the post-it method made famous by SatC. In that case, Berger and Carrie only had a troubled, short-term boyfriend/girlfriend status. And, while having a post-it do your dirty work is never okay, you could kind of picture how it might happen given the direction their TV relationship was heading. On the other hand, no matter how bad things are, the betrayal of a marriage-ending instant message is ridiculous and unforgivable.

Not only did this woman and her husband have vows and a legal contract binding their life together, but they also worked, and continue to work (luckily not directly), at the same place in a small town. The author tells that during the good times they would IM fun little things to each other at work, so I can only assume the coward decided to break the divorce news during working hours too. As if he didn't have plenty of opportunities while they were getting ready that morning, eating breakfast, and driving in to the office. Where is the emoticon to go along with the I'm Leaving You But I'm Too Afraid to Tell You to Your Face message? Personally, if this is the direction we're heading in communication, I think there needs to be a toilet icon (with accompanying sound effects) to indicate in one simple click that, yes, I'm flushing this relationship down the loo.

What is wrong with people? I think this story is going to keep me celebrating my single self - at least for a little while.

In other news, Em and I have a new business idea if our Sparklers & Lemonade endeavor isn't profitable. Doggie daycare combined with Chinese restaurant. There is a serious shortage of good Chinese food delivery in Seattle, and there are lots of doted on dogs running around here, so we'll hit on a hot market by providing two valuable services in one package. To save on cost, we figure we can get a van or a VW bus to double as the delivery truck and pet shuttle. I can see it now. "Here's your Lo Mein, Mr. Smith. Is Sparky ready to go?"

Man, my Do You Ever Have a Day When... list is getting out of control. I'm wondering if all the time I spend thinking about these "episodes" when writing is leading to a certain amount of manifestation. Today, while sliding in to my car after a trip to Half Price Books, the button on the fake back pocket of my cute (but obviously very cheap) capris caught on the seat. I was concerned that the button had popped off, but when I put my hand back there to check, I discovered that actually the snag had caused a nice long gaping tear right down my left butt cheek. Attractive. That axed my plan to stop at Trader Joes on the way home. Of course, I obsessed about the giant hole in my pants the entire 20 minute drive. Who could think of anything else? Luckily, I had a sweater in my car to tie around my waist as I walked from the garage across the courtyard of my apartment building. I haven't even talked to my new neighbors yet (yes, I moved again), so I really doubt they are ready to see that side of me. My cute pants are now a sad memory in a rumpled heap at the bottom of my garbage can. Boo.

The whole reason for the Half Price Books stop was to pick up books on childbirth and being a birthing partner. Molly's due date is rapidly approaching, and, in a few weeks, I hope to be in Maui on time for the momentous delivery of my nephew. Only two people are allowed in the room in the hospitals there, so her boyfriend and I are the assigned support team for God only knows how many hours of labor. Yowsa. Molly keeps suggesting reading materials to help prepare me for my responsibilities, since it's obvious my knowledge is pretty limited. The pressure is setting in. In my usual procrastinator way, I figured I could do a little cramming on the plane and be all set to go upon arrival, but Molly is not so confident and keeps tossing little bits of expectation into our phone conversations.

"Megan, you should really check out this book by so-and-so that Joe is reading. We like it, and that way you and Joe can be on the same page about breathing techniques, massage..."

"Wait a minute. Massage? Who said anything about massage? I'll leave that up to Joe."

"Megan! That's part of the process, and Joe has been giving me massages for 9 months."

"Well, then he's probably built up an endurance and is really good at it by now," I replied. Then I explained how massage isn't my thing by giving the example of how I used to tickle my ex's back at night when I couldn't fall asleep, because the boredom of it knocked me out in seconds. This led to a lengthy and huffy discussion about my massage responsibilities and how I better fulfill them. So, I changed the subject to focus on my stronger points.

"Mols, didn't you say there will be a CD player in the room? I have a couple of CDs in mind that I think will be great, so leave that up to me. Instead of worrying about massage and breathing, maybe I could just be the DJ for this event. I'm sure I could come up with a good playlist. I know! Queen and David Bowie's "Under Pressure" will be perfect during those final pushing moments."

"Megan! If you play that, I'll throw something heavy at your head."

"Well, I could take requests."

"Hmmm, my doctor might like that, actually."

I'm in as the DJ! Of course, Molly can't resist outlining everything I need to do in addition to that every time we talk, so I'm curling up with "Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn - The Complete Guide" tonight. In spite of our recent conversations, I know she's aware deep down that I'll do everything in my power to make this the best possible experience for her if I'm lucky enough to be there. I figure I can learn to talk the talk to instill a bit more confidence, though. Yes, I'll massage if necessary. She can even squeeze my hand as hard as she wants, and I might not complain. I'll do funny breathing and bring her ice and try to distract her with a game of Boggle. I can holler at the doctors for more drugs if we need them, and stop Joe from filming anything she won't want shown on the big screen later. I can do all that in addition to making sure that Travie enters the world to some good tunes.