Chick Wit

• Cracking Up February 16, 2025

  By Lisa Scottoline

  

  As far as I’m concerned, there are three seasons: spring, summer, fall, and cracked feet.

  Read on, unless you nauseate easily.

  Because I’m trying to understand what happens to my feet in winter time.

  I simply don’t recognize them anymore.

  I’m not sure they’re even human.

  My toes look like blocks, and on the bottom, the edges are sharp.

  I could cut Gruyère with my toes.

  Plus there’s a white rim around the edges of both feet.

  Cracks form like tectonic plates on my heels.

  Flakes of skin come off if I scratch my soles.

  Did you just throw up?

  I did, and it landed on my feet.

  And improved them.

  The fun begins when the cracks start bleeding. Sometimes it hurts to walk. I mean, it’s not torture, but I have a low pain threshold.

  Then I have to put Neosporin on the cracks and cover them with Band-aids, so my feet look like busted tires in a cartoon.

  And no shoes help.

  If I wear clogs, I can’t tell the difference between the wooden base and my feet.

  I could walk across fiery coals and not feel a thing.

  By the way, that’s the perfect description of my second marriage.

  To return to point, I know women aren’t supposed to loathe their bodies, and generally I don’t, but my feet deserve it.

  In fact, they’re getting off easy.

  I think you should loathe them, too.

  And now, maybe you do.

  Most of you might read this and say, Obviously Lisa, you need to moisturize your feet.

  To which I would reply, Honey, there is no amount of moisture that would make my feet human again.

  I’ve tried Vaseline, Gold Bond, Cetaphil, and every other product on the market. I slather them on my feet at night, and the next morning, my feet are exactly the same.

  They suck up all the moisture.

  They’re thirsty and they drink like crazy.

  Basically, I think all those products work the same way, which is that they cover your feet and seal its moisture in.

  But what if there’s no moisture to seal in?

  Honestly, it’s like the Sahara down there.

  I’m dry as dust.

  And it’s not because I’m getting older. I’ve had this my whole entire life.

  And don’t get me started on my legs.

  There are alligators with better skin.

  But even so, my legs aren’t as dry as my feet. You know it’s bad when people try to help. At Christmas, Daughter Francesca gave me a special kind of balm that you put on your feet at night with little red gel socks.

  I slept in those for a week.

  You know what got moisturized?

  The socks.

  I have the moistest socks in the tri-state area.

  Also my sheets, because I get sick of wearing socks to bed.

  My sheets are a Slip ‘N Slide.

  And when you sleep with dogs, the dogs try to lick moisturizer off your feet.

  Apparently Cetaphil is tasty.

  It’s an appetizer to Gold Bond.

  Sometimes I let the dogs lick my toes.

  It’s the only action in my bedroom.

  And you know what, I’m not complaining.

  And as far as my feet go, I’m waiting ‘til spring.

  Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2025

• Us and Them and the Super Bowl February 9, 2025

  By Lisa Scottoline

  

  It’s Super Bowl weekend, the Eagles against the Chiefs!

  And I’m an Eagles fan, but it got me thinking.

  Yes, I know. Some of you believe a thinking Eagles fan is an oxymoron.

  Or that we’re morons.

  But don’t hate us.

  No more hating.

  Because we live in divided times, but we can’t let the times divide us.

  It shouldn’t be Eagles fans against Chiefs fans.

  Because the Super Bowl isn’t litigation or war, it’s a game.

  I believe the sentient among us understand that, even us Eagles fans.

  Obviously, it’s fun to be in a tribe, and sing the songs, and wear the team colors, and get a little crazy. Case in point, I was wearing my Eagle’s jacket this week when I went into Nudy’s restaurant in my town, and they were giving out free breakfast to everybody in Eagles gear.

  Wow!

  In other words you didn’t have to be nude at Nudy’s.

  And it was fun to see everybody dressed up in team gear and know that we felt the same way about at least one thing – free food.

  Tribalism is fun, but you have to know where to draw the line.

  And we do, all the time.

  For example, only two teams are in the Super Bowl every year, but everybody watches it, enjoys it, and even throws a party. The Eagles have rarely been in the Super Bowl, but I watch it every single year and love every minute. I have opinions about the commercials, the half-time show, the refereeing, and even the play-calling.

  Meanwhile I never played football in my life.

  The Monday after the Super Bowl, everybody’s a Monday morning quarterback.

  And everybody’s got opinions.

  And I love that everybody loves to talk about their opinions and share them and discuss it and maybe even disagree. We rank the commercials. We decide whether the halftime show compares to Prince’s. We have a lot to yak about.

  But nobody gets up in arms.

  Or fights about it.

  Or hates over it.

  Or thinks of someone else as the Other, but rather just Another.

  An unusual thing happened to me yesterday, which reminded me of that lesson.

  I dented my car and I brought it into a body shop, and lo and behold, I found out that the owner was my cousin.

  My actual cousin.

  I had no idea he even existed. We have family reunions now and then, and he had not been at them. But as soon as I looked at him, I saw a faint reflection of my late father’s eyes.

  And I teared up, like a big baby.

  It turns out that our grandfathers were brothers, back in Italy, and they came to this country at about the same time, speaking only Italian and having nothing but a dream of this remarkable country and the willingness to work hard. That’s exactly what they did, and remarkably enough, only one generation later, their grandchildren, two total strangers who speak very little Italian, met by chance.

  And besides the personal story, it made me realize something else, especially this Super Bowl week, in these crazy times when everybody is a Republican, a Democrat, a Libertarians, or a vegetarian.

  We really do have more in common than we have different, and that is our shared humanity.

  Any one of us could be the other’s family.

  Because in truth, we are.

  Everyone is someone’s family.

  We’re all one big team.

  And if we start thinking this way, we all can win.

  Go, us!

  Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2025

• Heavy Petting February 2, 2025

  By Lisa Scottoline

  

  I was in New York and something great happened!

  Let me explain.

  I was there last weekend visiting Daughter Francesca, and we did a million things, including go to the Javitz Center to Meet the Breeds, a dog show where you can see dogs of all varieties, and pet them and kiss them.

  Of course, we have dogs at home that we can pet and kiss.

  So God knows why we paid thirty bucks to pet and kiss other peoples’ dogs, but there you have it.

  We love dogs.

  It was a great time, then afterwards Francesca had somewhere else to go and I went back to the apartment to watch the Eagles in the NFC playoffs, which I did with Flat Bradley, a cardboard cutout of Bradley Cooper.

  It’s way more fun than it sounds.

  And we won!

  I mean the Eagles.

  I also won, because Flat Bradley is the perfect man for me.

  He doesn’t expect dinner and he doesn’t want my money.

  And the sex is great.

  You can follow along on my social media, where I post all the pix.

  Except for the ones that are NSFW.

  Back to the story.

  The whole weekend, I was taking cabs and whipping out my credit card left and right. The day I packed to leave, I was missing my American Express card.

  I had no idea where I lost it.

  Before I go further, let me tell you that the last time I lost a credit card, I was also visiting Francesca in New York City. It was my Visa card and it dropped out of my pocket as I walked along the Hudson River. I cancelled the card, but later that day, a woman emailed me through my website to say she’d found it!

  I love New York!

  After that I vowed to never carry a credit card in my pocket.

  Now I carry my credit card in my wallet.

  But I manage to lose it anyway.

  I know.

  I’m amazing, right?

  I’m Queen of Unforced Errors.

  The proof is that I got married a second time.

  Anyway to return to the story, I was walking to get a coffee before I called the credit card company, and I walked in the door of the coffee shop, it struck me that I had been here two days ago.

  So I took a chance and asked the barista, “By any chance, did I leave an American Express card here?”

  And the barista asked, “What’s your name?”

  I did not answer Mrs. Bradley Cooper, even though I have the mug that says so.

  I answered, and he said, “Yes, you left your card!”

  And he handed it to me!

  What?

  Amazingly, I’ve lost a credit card in New York on two occasions and both times, New York gave me the card back!

  What a city!

  And that morning I walked to the car, carrying my coffee and Flat Bradley.

  You think New York has seen everything?

  It’s hasn’t.

  On the sidewalk, every head turned.

  Drivers in cars pointed and laughed.

  Yes, I had a walk of shame with a cardboard celebrity.

  And we’ll be watching the Super Bowl together, me and my corrugated man.

  Go Birds!

  Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2025

• Fanfare January 26, 2025

  By Lisa Scottoline

  

  It’s playoff season!

  For me that means, Go Birds!

  Yes, I’m an Eagles fan.

  Lifelong. Die hard. I bleed green.

  At least I did before menopause.

  Anyway the reason this matters is lately I’m wondering if I’m a jerk.

  Because I was listening to the radio, and they were talking about how awful Eagles fans were.

  And then I read an editorial about how awful Eagles fans were.

  And then I asked my bestie Laura and she said a lot of people think Eagles fans are awful, but I still love you.

  OK, I didn’t know any of this.

  Maybe I should have, since the stadium has its own in-house judge to send fans to jail when they get out of line.

  Buzzkill.

  Another hint is Robert DeNiro as an Eagles fan in The Silver Linings Playbook, a movie I love because it has an adorable Jennifer Lawrence and also my imaginary boyfriend Bradley Cooper.

  But I thought that movie was just fiction.

  But now I realize I was in denial.

  Nobody tells us Eagles fans that we’re jerks.

  Maybe because they’re afraid of getting punched in the mouth.

  Me, I’m not that kind of Eagles fan.

  But it got me thinking, like that Reddit forum, Am I The Asshole?

  Like when I say I’m the Eagles fan, do people think I’m an asshole?

  Because I’m kind of not.

  At least you have to know me better to know what kind of asshole I am.

  And if I really plumb my fandom with the Eagles, it comes from being a shariah Philadelphian.

  This is my hometown, I’ve never lived anywhere else, and I have the accent to prove it.

  But if I go deeper, my love for the Eagles goes back to being Frank Scottoline’s daughter.

  My father wasn’t the Eagles fan that you expect, certainly not an asshole, and not even a sports fan in general.

  But I used to spend every Sunday lying on the living room floor with him, watching games.

  My family is big lying-on-the-floor fans.

  I still am.

  There is no couch that beats a floor.

  The dogs love it cause we cuddle up.

  And any time I watch an Eagles game from the floor, I remember my dad lying beside me, explaining about the offensive and the defensive teams, and telling me the names of the players.

  He was a mellow guy so he never shouted at the TV. In fact I don’t think I ever heard my father curse.

  Meanwhile my mother’s hobby was profanity.

  So maybe you see why the divorce.

  My father and I never went to a single football game. We didn’t have the money, but I didn’t know that. What we had was a soft rug, plenty of potato chips, real coke with sugar, and a father and a daughter lying on the floor for two games back-to-back, talking for eight hours.

  And during playoff season, that would include Saturdays.

  So yes, I’m an Eagles fan, but I hope you like me anyway.

  Sadly my father has passed on, so now I watch the game with a cardboard cutout of Bradley Cooper.

  You might think I’m kidding but I’m not.

  I started doing it because I know from the children’s books that kids love Flat Stanley, and I started thinking, why can’t adults have Flat Bradley?

  Well it turns out I can.

  So I bought a cardboard standee of Bradley Cooper a few years ago, and then he got a little worse for wear.

  I won’t tell you how.

  Then my bestie Franca got me a new Flat Bradley, and he looked so good in his cardboard tuxedo.

  You can check my social media during the playoffs and watch me make dirty jokes with a cardboard cutout of a man.

  Why do I do it?

  For fun.

  Because if you ask me, I think fandom is about fun. It’s about belonging to a community, or a city, or a group of people who love the same thing.

  I love fans of all kinds.

  I love fans of anything.

  I love people who love things.

  To me, that’s what life is about.

  It’s a loving kinship, with team gear.

  So Go Birds!

  We’re family.

  Copyright © Lisa Scottoline 2025

• Good For What Ails You January 19, 2025

  by Lisa Scottoline

  

  These are turbulent times.

  I have a cure.

  A puppy.

  First, let me state the obvious.

  Don’t get a puppy if you’re not going to take care of it forever.

  I assume I’m talking to responsible adults here.

  But now, let’s be real.

  I got a puppy and I am in love.

  There is no illness a puppy can’t cure.

  I’m having the best time ever, throwing balls for her and holding nylabones while she chews them.

  I feel sure that every minute I spend is adding time to my life.

  My deadline is going to hell but I’ll worry when I’m dead.

  The absolute best thing to do with the puppy is sleep with one.

  In your bed.

  Under the covers.

  I know, it sounds weird.

  Maybe you have something better to sleep with.

  Like a man.

  Or a woman.

  I used to sleep with men, and none of them was as much fun as a puppy.

  That’s just the truth.

  I think it begins when we’re kids and we sleep with stuffed animals. I had a pink rabbit named Pinky, and I still have her.  She’s ancient but she looks good for her age.

  Or maybe I’m projecting.

  I don’t know who started kids sleeping with stuffed animals, but it’s an absolutely great idea. I loved Pinky, and now I have a little puppy who’s the size and shape of Pinky.

  And I’m a kid again.

  Our story begins with me putting Eve in a crate next to my bed at night, which is what I read you were supposed to do. But she would wake up two, three, and four times to go out. I would take her out each time, she’d pee, and I’d give her a treat.

  The next day, I was tired.

  Very.

  Then I started to worry that she was waking up for the treat and/or the attention.

  I figured this out because I used to kiss her all the way downstairs and outside.

  Listen, I’m a good kisser.

  Not to brag.

  So last night, from the outset, I put her in my bed instead of the crate.

  And instead of waking up four times a night, she slept till 7:30 in the morning.

  And I got the first good night’s sleep since I got her.

  Plus it was fun.

  Like, so much fun.

  Eve just cuddled up at my side, nestled in my flannel nightgown.

  This is sex for middle-aged women.

  Now we sleep together, old lady and new puppy.

  I’m well aware that some of you might be grossed out at this point.

  I say this because I once wrote a character that slept with her dog under the covers, and my editor said it was disgusting.

  Really?

  But it’s cold at night.

  How can I cover myself and not the dog?

  I’m also aware that there are people who don’t allow their dog on the furniture, much less the sheets.

  I admire them.

  They set limits I never could.

  They’re never wearing more dog hair than their dog.

  They probably balance their checkbook every month.

  And they marry the right guy the first time.

  Me, not so much.

  But it all turned out alright in the end.

  Me and my little furball are having a great time.

  Bottom line, whatever gets you through the night.

  Copyright © 2025 Lisa Scottoline