I'm zooming off to the Grill at Gibbet Hill in a minute for Easter brunch, where I plan to do serious damage at the omelet station. No plans? Don't celebrate? Still want to eat out without paying a fixed price for a limp sliver of ham? Refuse to take a brunch cruise lest you wind up captive at sea with oodles of children wired on Cadbury eggs? I have ideas!

I enjoy hostessing. I like sending paper invitations, I like planning menus, and yes ... I even like cleaning my house. Before Andy was born, I had a graduation party for 90 people in a two-bedroom abode and dinner fetes for rogue guests including but not limited to the hardcore elderly and the very vegan. However: The nitty-gritty isn't always pretty, especially with a toddler underfoot. I have thrown more than one soiree that nearly ended in Brian and I murdering one another with paring knives. Which is why I'm tired of elite lifestyle "experts" peddling party porn to parents who cannot afford assistants, access to airbrushing, and detox diets that make a trot through Dean & DeLuca look economical.

What do you guys think of this T-shirt for kids with food allergies? It was designed by comedian and reality show star Kym Whitley, whose toddler son is allergic to peanut butter, among other things. Apparently, he dons it to birthday parties and whenever he's with an unfamiliar caregiver. Would you actually buy this?

So much is written about friendships and people we should hang onto during the fluid time between our early 30s and early 60s: people who knew us when we had acne, braces, bad boyfriends, tiny apartments. But as life intervenes, we maneuver the platonic puzzle pieces of our evolving lives for the here and now. By the time we’re in our sixties (I imagine; I have conducted some anthropological research on the subject but haven’t reached the milestone myself), we cling to those who are still alive, willing to speak to us, and have a valid driver’s license.