When real things happen to imaginary people

So, those ridiculously coy posting memes on Facebook about purse or bra color that are supposedly for raising awareness about breast cancer? You know, the ones that DON'T ACTUALLY MENTION CANCER? Yeah, people more articulate than I (like, oh, cleolinda) have posted very good rants about the idiocy of those memes.

However. There's a new one.

( The example: )
"Hopefully this will raise awareness not only of Breast Cancer, but also of the practices that can help detect it early and prevent it from being a killer."

How, exactly, will these sorts of posts raise awareness of breast cancer and detection practices when they're just more coy, tee-hee nonsense?

You want to raise awareness about breast cancer? Then talk about it. Openly. Don't hide behind coy and giggly innuendo. TALK ABOUT IT. Talk about how it has affected your life. Talk about how stupid it is to put off scheduling mammograms. (Hi, I'm an idiot. I'm very lucky that the check-up I recently had was fine, and ignoring the reminders to schedule that appointment was REALLY DUMB OF ME. Don't use me as a role model for this sort of thing.)

My apologies to the handful of you who have included me on FB messages suggesting women make these sorts of posts. I know you mean well. But this sort of, well, pointless internet "activism" make me crazy.

Over the past few days of browsing stores with Halloween merchandise, I have only purchased THREE items.

- Skull-decorated cupcake liners.

- Wilson's black gel color for frosting.

- Two oven mitts with glow-in-the-dark skeleton hands on them.

Okay, I have not yet been to Michael's or a big JoAnn's. But still! Marvel at my restraint and willpower so far!

More proof I am a grown-up: I finally made the appointment for my follow-up mammogram. Which I had kind of been dragging my feet on, and YES, I know that such things are important and should not be delayed. I KNOW. My appointment is tomorrow.

Of course, possibly negating any claim I have to adulthood: I stopped by the darling neighborhood thrift store (that is entirely staffed by sweet little old ladies), and discovered a brand-new, miniature version of one of the Gund bears I collect. I, erm, may have squeaked and bounced up and down. And then walked home with my parasol and a bear tucked under my arm. What? Now the Murphy Bear Clan has a new brother. I just need to figure out what his name is. (The other four bears are Murphy (who was the first), Dearby, Thirby, and Bigby. See this post for a longer explanation about Murphybear and why he's so important to me.)