The past couple days have felt more like the dog days of summer rather than spring. I haven’t yet had the courage to don shorts (or even flip-flops — my big toes are still sporting the polish from last fall), but the escalating temperature has me thinking about deserts and camels.

I should probably mention I’m traveling to Cairo, Egypt next month. (I swear if a cursed mummy doesn’t pop out of a pyramid, I’ll consider the whole trip a waste.)

Typical American summer-wear for young women — designed to shed maximum clothing to flaunt maximum flesh — is, not surprisingly, frowned upon in this ancient land. On Frommer’s discussion boards, one woman advised (in all caps) women tourists in Egypt to: “Show no breasts, shoulders, tummies, butts, knees, thighs, underwear straps.” Many posts go further, suggesting long pants or skirts and tunics with three-quarter length sleeves to cover elbows. (I suppose a bit of forearm and wrists are acceptable? The whole thing has me paranoid.)

It looks like I’ll be leaving my hot weather go-tos in my closet. Don’t want to look like a Western hussie.

I regard myself as a relatively modest dresser, but I’ve never thought twice about bared knees. I’ve never understood the indignity in an exposed shoulder either (what’s so scandalous about a shoulder anyway?).

Apparent ignorance of shoulder sex appeal aside, I’ve had to invest in a few items to walk, er, dress like an Egyptian. (Although, anything that makes me look more like Rachel Weisz in The Mummy is a bit of a perk.) And even though I’ve bought 100 percent cotton to combat heat exhaustion, I’ll still probably resent my covered knees and shoulders as I sweat it out in the desert.

But if I run into that mummy, it’ll totally be worth it. 

My sister is in Florida for spring break.

You remember spring break, don’t you? Sun, sand, swimwear. A week of escape from classes, papers and a teetering pile of neglected reading. Studying is left behind for sunbathing and boogie boarding. Nights are spent on the boardwalk, margarita in hand.

As Richmond has been under cloud and gloom the past few days, a bit of sunshine would be a welcome change. I work in a windowless office though, so a break in the dreary gray would go unnoticed.

Sigh.

It’s been nearly a year since graduation, and I’ve never stopped thinking about going back. College was such an exciting blur of beer pong, late night trips to IHOP and pulling practical jokes on the roommates.

When I told a grad school buddy I missed college she looked at me like I was, well, crazy.

She’s teaching, grading papers, taking classes and interning — all while keeping up with a part-time job and boyfriend. It seems I’ve conveniently blocked out the mind-numbing stress, the never-ending workload and the habitual state of being broke. So broke…

Nonetheless, as we come up on deadline here at the magazine, I think I’d rather be on spring break in Florida.

Oh look, I just got a text from my sister. She’s sitting by the pool sipping on a banana cabana.

I’ve always hated her.

Last weekend I went to a shooting range with my fiancé and some of his work buddies. (I was coerced, I assure you.)

I don’t mind being surrounded by testosterone. I actually prefer hanging with the guys than other females. For one thing, I’m usually the prettiest one there.

But perhaps I had intruded some kind of “No Girls Allowed” clubhouse (although I certainly wasn’t the only woman there), because one gentleman a few firing lanes over certainly seemed put out by my presence. 

After hearing we were engaged, he launched into a speech about how women change after marriage, blah, blah, blah — all the usual berating of wives you’ve probably heard before — as he stared me down.

I reminded the guy that I was standing right in front of him, could hear him quite clearly and, yes, I was offended.

He just kept talking. Apparently I’ll become a horrible pain-in-the-you-know-what immediately after our vows, perhaps I may even morph into some dragon-lady type creature (which actually sounds kind of cool) as do all women … naturally. He continued to assure my fiancé he spoke truth; after all, he’d been married six times.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been offered unwanted marital advice.

What was the most horrifying thing someone told you before you married?

I am a stereotype. Books are like trophies on my shelves (especially the mammoth ones). Comma splices really bug me. I may think you’re a bit of an idiot if you misuse “there,” “their” or “they’re.” I am the brunt of useless degree jokes—except when asked to judge a writing contest.

Over the weekend I helped evaluate and rank area high school students’ essays. The entries, while demonstrating good effort, were lacking what a stereotypical English major’s standards would expect.

Mediocre writing may stem from students’ assumption that there is no “real world” need for writing outside the classroom. (I thought trigonometry would prove pretty useless beyond the 11^th grade. I was right.) But what those students may not realize is just how ubiquitous writing really is—and just how crucial.

Case in point: the resume. The Golden Ticket to most career paths and yours will be tossed out at the first sight of an error. Graduates who may have scraped by in English classes will face difficulties with daily on-the-job writing. And, trust me, your boss will think you’re a bit of an idiot too if you misuse “there,” “their” or “they’re.”

So, tell your kids, your grandkids, to straighten up in those English classes. Practice their prose. Read.

Read!

There has been anxiety over the future of Ukrop’s rainbow cookies under the name of Martin’s Food Market. What we should’ve been worried about is where we’ll get this year’s supply of Girl Scout cookies.

Don’t expect to pick up a box of Tagalongs with that carton of milk at the old Ukrop’s/new Martin’s; Girl Scout troops have been banned from their long-standing sidewalk fundraising. Apparently the new owners have a preexisting policy that “does not make provisions for sidewalk vending at any of their stores,” as stated in an excerpt on the Girl Scouts Commonwealth of Virginia’s Web site.

As a retired Girl Scout myself, I have put in time on Ukrop’s sidewalks. One Saturday afternoon, a mean old lady, who obviously loathed sugar and uniformed little girls, stuck a crooked finger in my face and hissed at me, forked tongue and all. I may be exaggerating, but it was an unpleasant experience for a seven-year-old.

The new owners, mean old ladies as they’re acting, are not easing our anxieties about the transition, as they are clearly uninterested in supporting Richmond’s nonprofits and are denying us treats.

If the Girl Scouts are stuck with a surplus of Thin Mints, I will gladly take several boxes off their hands. Please contact me at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it . I have my checkbook on stand-by.