When a surfer decides not to take off on a wave and backstrokes with his/her arms to keep from being sucked over the falls.

And that, right there, is my life.

Not the cool surfing bit, in case you were momentarily impressed. No, the flailing arms and panicking bit.

Take, for instance, my recent relocation (courtesy of my husband's new job in yet another far-flung place). By now, after 5 moves, I am pretty aware that to make life go as smoothly as possible (and, indeed, to even have some sort of life worth mentioning), you have to hit the ground running, and meet and greet as many people as possible in a very speedy timeframe. Some you will wish you had never, ever encountered; some you will be happy to say hello to in the supermarket but will otherwise not seek out, and some will be keepers for life. To my enormous good fortune, I found two keepers almost immediately, who have taken it upon themselves to introduce me to many of their cherished friends.

And very lovely it is too, but I seem intent on making these new acquaintances wonder which planet I dropped in from. At the delightful swim party hosted by keeper no 1, I became rather too fond of the free-flowing sangria, and kissed every guest as they left. I also shared intimate details of my husband's foreskin status with 5th grade mothers that I would be seeing for the rest of my 9 year olds school life, and who would no doubt be meeting my unsuspecting spouse at various school functions - one hopes he has no urge to run for school board.

At keeper No 2's salad bar soiree, I was so nervous about meeting everyone that I proceeded to sweat profusely, and prove that J Crew 'Tissue T's" are no match for an overanxious woman with hyperactive sweat glands. The stains nearly reached my waist, and were compounded by an exploding faucet incident which only served to drench me further. Suffice to say, I made an impression, but have yet to receive any lunch invitations off the back of it..