Do you remember? It's Impossible Perry Como English words by Sid Wayne and Music by Armando Manzanero It's impossible, tell the sun to leave the sky, it's just impossible It's impossible, ask a baby not to cry, it's just impossible Can I hold you closer to me and not feel you goin' through me But the second that I never think of you, oh how impossible Can the ocean keep from rushin' to the shore, it's just impossible If I had you, could I ever want for more, it's just impossible And tomorrow, shouldya ask me for the world, somehow I'd get it I would sell my very soul and not regret it For to live without your love is just impossible Repeat second verse Impossible, immmmmm-impossible

EGGS Last week I purchased a dozen ORGANIC eggs from a supermarket by mistake. When I got the eggs home I noticed each egg had been stamped in red ink with a "certified organic seal of approval". Curious, I read the carton labeling. "HAND GATHERED STRAIGHT FROM THE NESTS" was one of the claims. (Sure beats collecting the eggs using their feet.) Another statement promised "CHICKENS ROAM FREELY IN BARNS". I guess these are "social" chickens, as opposed to the NON-organic variety that are crammed into egg laying cages. No matter. The organic barn-roaming eggs tasted just like the cheaper non-barn-roaming variety.

ETCHING 101 On the first day of a new semester at Old Dominion College, the art instructor informed us students that we would be making our own etching tools for "DRY POINT ETCHING 101", that by making our own tools we would become "closer" to our work. Dry point etching requires a sharp enough instrument to scratch through a lacquer coating on a metal plate, ultimately producing an inked image when the print is pulled through a lithograph press. I found a six inch long hat pin in a bedroom drawer, and decided to split open a pencil and remove the lead for the etching tool's handle. Then, placing the inverted needle in the hollowed-out pencil tube, I began wrapping the contraption with black electrician's tape. As I held the needle-pencil in my left hand, I tightly wrapped the stretchy tape around and around the wooden yellow handle. Everything was going quite well until the tape suddenly snapped, slamming the needle-thing directly into my heart. I stared down at the throbbing pink eraser as it inscribed tiny ellipses with every heart beat. "This must be it," I remember saying out loud. "This is the way I'm going to die, something really, really--- STUPID!" I began laughing. "Okay, okay... gotta do SOMETHING now. What--- pull it out? Apply direct pressure? No, WAIT! The EMERGENCY room? GOOD idea!" I walked the three blocks to the Norfolk General's emergency room, where I casually walked up to the nurse's station. "I seem to have impaled myself on the point of a homemade etching tool," I explained, letting go of the tape wrapped pencil. The eraser tapped steadily like a miniature metronome. When I was wheeled into an examining room, I watched as a doctor placed one hand on my chest, fingers splayed, and withdrew the etching tool like an archer removing an arrow from a target. One tiny spurt of blood, then a single drop congealed on my chest. Within an hour I was walking back to my apartment with my new etching tool safely in an envelope...

Do you remember? The Ballad of Davy Crockett Bill Hayes Music: George Bruns Lyrics: Tom Blackburn Born on a mountain top in Tennessee greenest state in the land of the free raised in the woods so he knew ev'ry tree kilt him a b'ar when he was only three Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier! In eighteen thirteen the Creeks uprose addin' redskin arrows to the country's woes Now, Injun fightin' is somethin' he knows, so he shoulders his rifle an' off he goes Davy, Davy Crockett, the man who don't know fear! Off through the woods he's a marchin' along makin' up yarns an' a singin' a song itchin' fer fightin' an' rightin' a wrong he's ringy as a b'ar an' twict as strong Davy, Davy Crockett, the buckskin buccaneer! Andy Jackson is our gen'ral's name his reg'lar soldiers we'll put to shame Them redskin varmints us Volunteers'll tame 'cause we got the guns with the sure-fire aim Davy, Davy Crockett, the champion of us all!~ Headed back to war from the ol' home place but Red Stick was leadin' a merry chase fightin' an' burnin' at a devil's pace south to the swamps on the Florida Trace Davy, Davy Crockett, trackin' the redskins down! Fought single-handed through the Injun War till the Creeks was whipped an' peace was in store An' while he was handlin' this risky chore made hisself a legend for evermore Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier! He give his word an' he give his hand that his Injun friends could keep their land An' the rest of his life he took the stand that justice was due every redskin band Davy, Davy Crockett, holdin' his promise dear! Home fer the winter with his family happy as squirrels in the ol' gum tree bein' the father he wanted to be close to his boys as the pod an' the pea Davy, Davy Crockett, holdin' his young'uns dear! But the ice went out an' the warm winds came an' the meltin' snow showed tracks of game An' the flowers of Spring filled the woods with flame an' all of a sudden life got too tame Davy, Davy Crockett, headin' on West again! Off through the woods we're ridin' along makin' up yarns an' singin' a song He's ringy as a b'ar an' twict as strong an' knows he's right 'cause he ain' often wrong Davy, Davy Crockett, the man who don't know fear! Lookin' fer a place where the air smells clean where the trees is tall an' the grass is green where the fish is fat in an untouched stream an' the teemin' woods is a hunter's dream Davy, Davy Crockett, lookin' fer Paradise! Now he's lost his love an' his grief was gall in his heart he wanted to leave it all an' lose himself in the forests tall but he answered instead his country's call Davy, Davy Crockett, beginnin' his campaign! Needin' his help they didn't vote blind They put in Davy 'cause he was their kind sent up to Nashville the best they could find a fightin' spirit an' a thinkin' mind Davy, Davy Crockett, choice of the whole frontier! The votes were counted an' he won hands down so they sent him off to Washin'ton town with his best dress suit still his buckskins brown a livin' legend of growin' renown Davy, Davy Crockett, the Canebrake Congressman! He went off to Congress an' served a spell fixin' up the Govern'ments an' laws as well took over Washin'ton so we heered tell an' patched up the crack in the Liberty Bell Davy, Davy Crockett, seein' his duty clear! Him an' his jokes travelled all through the land an' his speeches made him friends to beat the band His politickin' was their favorite brand an' everyone wanted to shake his hand Davy, Davy Crockett, helpin' his legend grow! He knew when he spoke he sounded the knell of his hopes for White House an' fame as well But he spoke out strong so hist'ry books tell an' patched up the crack in the Liberty Bell Davy, Davy Crockett, seein' his duty clear! When he come home his politickin' done the western march had just begun So he packed his gear an' his trusty gun an' lit out grinnin' to follow the sun Davy, Davy Crockett, leadin' the pioneer! He heard of Houston an' Austin so to the Texas plains he jest had to go Where freedom was fightin' another foe an' they needed him at the Alamo Davy, Davy Crockett, the man who don't know fear! His land is biggest an' his land is best from grassy plains to the mountain crest He's ahead of us all meetin' the test followin' his legend into the West Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier!

What do you get when you pour hot water down a rabbit hole? A Hot Cross bunny. What did the bunny say when he only had thistles to eat? Thistle have to do! Is it true that bunnies have good eye sight? Well you never see a bunny wearing glasses, do you? What did the grey rabbit say to the blue rabbit? Cheer up! Why is a bunny the luckiest animal in the world? It has 4 rabbits' feet. How do you post a bunny? Hare mail. What is the difference between a crazy bunny and a counterfeit banknote? One is bad money and the other is a mad bunny! What do you get when you cross a bunny with a leek? A bunion. What does a bunny use when it goes fishing? A harenet. What do you get when you cross a bunny with an orange? A pip squeak. What did the bunny want to do when he grew up? Join the Hare Force. What goes ha-ha-clunk? A bunny laughing its head off. How do you make a rabbit stew? Make it wait for 3 hours!. What do you get when you cross an bunny with a Scottish bun? A bonnybunnybun! What do you get if you cross a 'Jackaroo'- Bunny with a Dr. Frankenstien? You get a 'hare-brained' Jackyl! Where does a bunny go when it dies? To the hare-after. What do you get when you cross an Easter bunny with a blue Easter bunny? A crying bunny!

How wonderful! Thanks for the memory. Forwarded it to my sibs. Pat Las Vegas Turk McGee wrote: > Do you remember? > > The Ballad of Davy Crockett > Bill Hayes > > Music: George Bruns > Lyrics: Tom Blackburn >

I love all the things posted at this list. And I am particularly fond of poetry. I'd like to share a little poem that was on the fly leaf of my 8th grade reading book (many, many years ago). I memorized the poem and it has stayed with me all these years. If I remember correctly the author was the most famous author of all: Anonymous.<grin> Friends? (or Friendship) It is my joy in life to find At every turning of the road The strong arm of a comrade kind To help me onward with my load. But since I have no gold to give And love alone must make amends My only prayer is, "While I live God make me worthy of my friends." Anon.

Hi, Not sure if any of you are on any other lists with Pat@ so I thought I would pass along the information that her mother passed away on Tuesday, March 19th. Keep Pat & her family in your prayers. Mary Thank you Munchkin, {{{{{{{{{{{{{Mary}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} I should have thought to do this. Love ya, kath

In a message dated 3/18/2002 4:48:56 AM Central Standard Time, marym@i-is.com writes: > While trying to find the story Patti wanted, I came across this and > thought I would share. > Thanks Mary, That one is really cute. Its not the one I'm looking for but I'm going to keep it. Thanks Again Patti

Hi, Not sure if any of you are on any other lists with Pat@ so I thought I would pass along the information that her mother passed away on Tuesday, March 19th. Keep Pat & her family in your prayers. Mary

They Took a Vote By Bill Holicky The strength of a country comes from its people. It always has and always will. No matter what pomp and bravado a government shows, the solidity of a nation is directly determined by that of the individual citizen. America has been shaken to its core by acts of terror. Many, including our president, have said that we are strong, that we have resolve and that we will persevere. These words mean nothing to terrorists. Terrorists wait to see the actions of people, of individuals, to see if they will buckle and cower. The cowards who killed our sisters and brothers, our mothers and fathers, our sons and daughters should know what happened on the flight they unsuccessfully tried to turn into a bomb over Pennsylvania. So should the rest of our fellow countrymen and women. In the history of this country of freedom, there has never been an event more emblematic of the values and heroism of the United States of America. The flight had been hijacked, and was being turned around to be used as ammunition against innocent civilians at some unknown target in Washington, D.C. After some hurried cell phone calls to their loved ones, passengers learned of the World Trade Center attacks. They considered the consequences, then they took a vote together. In that instant, they validated the great experiment of the United States of America. They voted. They affirmed the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, our entire history of freedom, and gave meaning to every soldier who's ever died in the service of this country. Faced with all the threats that this country stands against, and in their own last hour, these Americans determined their path with a simple act of democracy, of freedom. They voted. They voted to give their lives to save the innocent people for which the plane was headed. Think about that for a moment. It's the very definition of heroic. There is something else in that story, however, something incredible that should fill every American with pride. None of those American passengers took command. Nobody ordered them to attack the terrorists. Nobody forced them to follow along with the heroic insurgence. Faced with death, tyranny, and terror, those Americans voted to sacrifice their lives for others. September 11, 2001, is a day, as was said of Pearl Harbor, that will live in infamy. Thousands perished at the hands of cowards. We should never forget, however, that it was also the day that a few heroic patriots thousands of feet above Pennsylvania farmland sent a message to the entire world - our commitment to freedom and democracy, in the United States of America, is not wavering, it is not shaken, and it cannot be taken away by any act. America is freedom. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

An Unknown Soldier By Terry Paulson One day, while changing flights in Chicago, I called my wife to let her know that I would be home shortly. As we were talking, I overheard a young soldier on the phone next to me leaving a message, "Mom, I don't know. They just told me that they won't change the ticket without more money...and I don't have it." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Okay, I'll try to stay here by the phone. Please call back soon. The number is..." The soldier hung up, and with a worried look on his face, he stood next to the phone bank, nervously waiting for the phone to ring. I said good-bye to my wife and then turned to the anxious young man. "How much do you need, soldier?" I asked. "Sir, I'm twenty dollars short of getting home." I reached into my pocket and took out my wallet. "For giving to our country, I am honored to give you this twenty dollars." A big smile of relief came over him as he took the money and said, "Thank you, sir." "Now, go home," I smiled back. And with that, he shook my hand, grabbed his duffel bag and dashed off to the gate and on to his waiting family. You can't get much more than that for any amount of money. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Watching Me Go By Diane Tullson The crayoned picture shows a first-grade boy with shoebox arms, stovepipe legs and tears squirting like melon seeds. The carefully printed caption reads, "I am so sad." It is my son Brendan's drawing-journal entry for September 19. Brendan cried his first day of school, dissolving at his classroom door like a human bullion cube. The classroom jiggled with small faces, wet-combed hair, white Nikes and new backpacks. Something furry scuttled around in a big wire cage. Garden flowers rested on Mrs. Phillip's desk. Mrs. Phillips has halo status at our school. She is a kind, soft-spoken master of the six-year- old mind. But even she could not coax Brendan to a seat. Most sat eagerly awaiting Dick and Jane and two plus two. Not my Brendan. His eyes streamed, his nose ran and he clung to me like a snail on a strawberry. I plucked him off and escaped. It wasn't that Brendan didn't like school. He was the kid at the preschool Christmas concert who knew everyone's part and who preformed "Jingle Bells" with operatic passion. Brendan just didn't like being apart from me. We'd had some good times, he and I, in those preschool years. We played at the pool. We skated on quiet morning ice. We sampled half the treat tray at weekly neighborhood coffee parties. Our time together wasn't exactly material for a picture book, but it was time together. And time moves differently for a child. Now in the first grade, Brendan was faced with five hours of wondering what I was doing with my day. Brendan always came home for lunch, the only one of his class not to eat at his desk. But once home, fed and hugged, a faraway look of longing would crease his gentle brow - he wanted to go back to school to play! So I walked him back, waited with him until he spotted someone he knew, then left. He told me once that he watched until he couldn't see me anymore, so I always walked fast and never looked back. One day when I took Brendan back after lunch, he spied a friend, kissed me good-bye and scampered right off. I went, feeling pleased for him, celebrating his new independence, his entry into the first-grade social loop. And I felt pleased for myself, a sense of well-being and accomplishment that I, too, had entered into the mystic circle of parents whose children separated easily. Then - I don't know why - I glanced back. And there he was. The playground buzzed all around him, kids everywhere, and he stood, his chin tucked close, his body held small, his face intent but not sad, blowing me kisses. So brave, so unashamed, so completely loving, Brendan was watching me go. No book on mothering could have prepared me for that quick, raw glimpse into my child's soul. My mind leaped fifteen years ahead to him packing boxes and his dog grown old and him saying, "Dry up, Mom. It's not like I'm leaving the country." In my mind, I tore up the card every mother signs saying she'll let her child go when he's ready. I looked at Brendan, his shirt tucked in, every button done up, his toes just turned in a bit, and I thought, Okay, you're six for me forever. Just try to grow up, I dare you. With a smile I had to really dig for, I blew him a kiss, turned and walked away. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Smallest Gestures By Deanna Cogdon It's 10:30 P.M. on September 11, and I am pumping up a double air mattress with a manual air pump at Halifax's Exhibition Park. Along with many other Haligonians, I arrived here around 8 P.M. to see if I could help make life a little easier for the stranded passengers. I think it's my fifteenth mattress, and I'm tired, hot and sweaty. An older woman lying on a mattress in a donated sleeping bag looks up at me and says something. All I hear is the word "tea." I stop my pumping and say, "Sure, I'll definitely find you a cup of tea." She looks up at me and says, "Not for me, for you." I tell her that I appreciate the offer but that I am fine for the moment. She looks rather solemn as she lies there, by herself, amidst hundreds of other airline passengers who are wandering in and trying to find beds. She is lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. I comment that it must have been a long day for her. She is from New York and had been visiting England. She was on a British Airways plane that was rerouted to Halifax in the wake of the terrible events taking place in New York. She begins to tell me about her husband and two daughters who live in New York, and how she would imagine that one of her daughters and her fiance must be terribly busy as they are both doctors. Then I ask her the inevitable question, "Have you been in touch with your family?" Her eyes move from looking at me, to looking at the ground. She says that she hasn't been able to get in touch yet, but that she is confident they're okay, and that they know she's okay. As she talks, I can hear the hesitation and worry on her voice. I quietly sit next to her and tell her that I work for the local cell-phone company, and offer her my phone to call her husband. A smile spreads across her face as I ask her for the number. It takes us four tries to get through, but finally, I hear ringing on the other end of the phone. I hand her the phone, she takes it, and I don't think I'll ever forget the quivering voice that I heard next... "Joseph, I'm safe. I'm in Halifax." She talks for about five minutes and finds out that her family is fine. As Joseph describes the day's events to her, she listens silently with widened eyes and a hand covering her mouth. She asks him to let her daughters know she's okay and before she hangs up, she says, "The Canadians are wonderful. I am so impressed with Halifax." I smile as she hands me the phone. I squeeze her hand, say good-bye and, as I'm walking away, she says, "Thank you so much. Now I can sleep tonight." As I gather my pump and head towards my next air mattress, I think about how impressed and proud I am of Halifax, too. I am proud of my mom for helping me to find sleeping mats for people at the Dartmouth Sportsplex; I am proud of my brother who stood in line for more than three hours with eight of his colleagues from Mountain Equipment Co-Op to donate blood; I am proud of my boyfriend who helped prepare Mount Saint Vincent University for stranded passengers; and I am proud of my colleagues at MTT Mobility who scrambled around the office all afternoon gathering cell phones to donate to the cause. In the wake of tragedy like the world experienced on September 11, everyone feels helpless. My experience at Exhibition Park has reminded me of the truth in the old saying, "Every little thing counts." It could be a two- dollar phone call, a thought, a prayer, a donation or a hug - no matter what it is, please remember that it does count. The smallest gestures clumped together and piled on top of each other can make a world of difference. .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Life-defining Moments Life-defining moments. Each of us has them, usually during a hardship or heartache. These are the events and decisions that shape the direction and focus of our lives from that moment on. These are the times when we clearly see what is most important and has infinite, eternal value. These are also the times when we experience the true limitations and weaknesses each of us has as human beings - when we learn that we cannot do all, be all, know all and control all - when we get a realistic perspective on the world and adjust our expectations accordingly. The birth of my son Timothy seventeen years ago was such a moment. When I saw the doctor cry as my son entered the world and heard the technician say to me "Mrs. Stone, we can't find your baby's brain," I was terrified! Ten years before, the Lord had drawn me to Himself, making me realize my need for His forgiveness and grace. I committed my life to serving Him, whatever the cost, thinking that I would be a missionary. When I met my husband Jim, I thought I had God's plan figured out: we would make a perfect little family, enjoy the ministry and be happy! Then came Tim. All my hopes and dreams died! It seemed that in an instant, the "perfect" family, the glorious ministry and definitely happiness were gone. Even worse, I thought my trust in Jesus Christ was gone too. I always thought that God would not give me more than I could handle, but He did! I couldn't handle this immense, life-long responsibility! I wanted out! Been there? It seems that almost everybody on earth comes to a point in their life when they are faced with more than they can "handle" - when they feel very afraid, very sad and very alone - when they are in the fiery furnace of affliction and cannot do a thing about it. Then I remembered Daniel 3 the story of the three Hebrews in the fiery furnace. The king threw them in there and then counted FOUR people in the flames. Who was that fourth person? It must have been the Lord. I have been in that furnace for seventeen years now and I still cannot handle it (just ask my husband!) That's why I need the Savior! He is in the furnace with me, so even though I feel the heat, I am not consumed by the fire that surrounds me. I still feel very sad. (So that's what was hiding behind my anger all those years!) Yet, God has resurrected my dead hopes and dreams and brought much good out of a tragic situation. I don't have the "perfect" family, but I do have a precious family. My joy in ministry comes from bringing comfort to others with the comfort I have received from the Lord. And my happiness comes from knowing that God is with me always, so I am not alone or afraid. By Michelle Stone .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

why Thank you hun. =) > Thank you all - Particularly > .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. > *: * Richiele * * > *·. .·* > `*·-:¦:-*´ > ³´`*:»§«:*´`³ Who always has such lovely words of wisdom > > Jean NZ > .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

hey you guys got anything on totem animals? id like to learn ty misssi .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³

Hi everybody I have to be present at the re-interment of a little baby who died 15 years ago. At the time i found a little poem that the mother has asked me for again I cannot find my copy and hope someone out there can help. I cannot remember the correct wording but it goes something like this I lend you for a little while A child of mine God said To care for while she's with you and mourn for when she's dead...... Thank you all - Particularly .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³ Who always has such lovely words of wisdom Jean NZ

Turkles to the rescue! ~~~~~~~~~~~ "Lines For A Child Lent By God" By: Unknown Author I'll lend you for a little while A child of mine, He said, For you to love him while he lives, And mourn when he is dead. It may be six or seven years, Or twenty-two or three, But will you, till I call him back, Take care of him for me? He'll bring his charms to gladden you, And shall his stay be brief, You'll have his lovely memories For solace in your grief. I cannot promise he will stay, Since all from earth return, But there are lessons taught down there I want this child to learn. I've looked the wide world over In my search for teachers true, And from the throng that crowd life's loves I have selected you. Now will you give him all your love, Nor think the labor vain, nor hate me When I come to call to take him back again? I fancied that I heard them say Dear Lord, Thy will be done. For all the joy thy children bring The risk of grief we'll run. We'll shelter him with tenderness, We'll love him while we may, And for the happiness we've known Forever grateful stay. And shall the angels call for him Much sooner than we've planned, We'll brave the bitter grief that comes, And try to understand. Jean and Stan wrote: > Hi everybody > > I have to be present at the re-interment of a little baby who died 15 years > ago. At the time i found a little poem that the mother has asked me for > again I cannot find my copy and hope someone out there can help. I cannot > remember the correct wording but it goes something like this > > I lend you for a little while > A child of mine God said > To care for while she's with you > and mourn for when she's dead...... > > Thank you all - Particularly > .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. > *: * Richiele * * > *·. .·* > `*·-:¦:-*´ > ³´`*:»§«:*´`³ Who always has such lovely words of wisdom > > Jean NZ >

--part1_dc.146a38f2.29c7fc7e_boundary Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit << > > >A study in Scotland showed that the kind of male face a woman finds > > >attractive can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle. > For > > >instance, if she is ovulating she is attracted to men with rugged, > > masculine > > >features and if she is menstruating she is more prone to be attracted to > a > > >man with scissors shoved into his temple. >> --part1_dc.146a38f2.29c7fc7e_boundary Content-Type: message/rfc822 Content-Disposition: inline Return-path: <FRathbun@aol.com> From: FRathbun@aol.com Full-name: FRathbun Message-ID: <aa.84fb7ae.29c7b6a0@aol.com> Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2002 16:31:12 EST Subject: the kind of male face a woman finds > > >attractive To: Balla396@aol.com, BEACH1908@aol.com, BJordan605@aol.com, BLR111@worldnet.att.net, nanidyer@webtv.net, Chennjing@aol.com, ChuckRobberts@netscape.net, Cindy.Thompson@solvay.com, ctomson1@flash.net, Debhug68@aol.com, dick_rathbun@hotmail.com, dugndan@xpressweb.com, GutzyEJ@aol.com, GolfPrincess81@aol.com, GOOFYAJ@aol.com, gorbercole@aol.com, Greek2468@aol.com, jjackson@rcvideo.com, JJGRAVITY@aol.com, KlausGermany@aol.com, Lilhitler3@aol.com, lrathbun@austin.rr.com, Macalusotree@aol.com, Marco_Frigerio@rcm.inet.it, Mutat@aol.com, Nativesoul7@aol.com, prr@cyberramp.net, revl.wilson@juno.com, rdabbs@rcvideo.com., SMillou@aol.com, Sugarmtwo@aol.com, TxSihing@aol.com, UFFDA4@aol.com, UFFDAMTN@aol.com MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Mailer: AOL 7.0 for Windows US sub 121 > > >A study in Scotland showed that the kind of male face a woman finds > > >attractive can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle. > For > > >instance, if she is ovulating she is attracted to men with rugged, > > masculine > > >features and if she is menstruating she is more prone to be attracted to > a > > >man with scissors shoved into his temple. > > > --part1_dc.146a38f2.29c7fc7e_boundary--