For Kim: A Blacksmith

Saw this guy at the Celtic Festival last spring. Have no idea if he fits into Kim's Blacksmith Fantasy.

And let me just say that I think it's hysterical that all I need to do to get people to comment on my blog is ask them what they think looks sexy on a man.

Lingerie (warning! TMI!)

After yesterday's blind panic, I did the counter-intuitive thing and put on something sexy. Hubby was appreciative. Which, naturally, put me right back in my happy place. (didn't hurt that my weight was down this morning, though I vow to stay off the scale for another month so as to not go completely batshit crazy).

He also felt a little sheepish that he didn't own anything he considered equally sexy.

What on earth could a man wear, in bed, to look sexier than a naked man?

"That doesn't leave much to the imagination," he said. But, speaking just as ME, I told him I don't think women think that way.

"Women don't have an imagination?" he asked.

But I don't think that's it. We just don't go in for the "little scrap of fabric covering the naughty bits".

So, I was thinking...what looks good on a man?

I have come up with the following list:

Work clothes: either spiffy office duds, or that grimy busted-knuckle thing. I can confirm this by the way my friend VeggieBlonde rhapsodizes about men in white, oxford cloth shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Ooh, she gets that dreamy look in her eyes.

Clubbing clothes. Not too prissy, just dress up a bit, ok, guys? The guy in the suit, who then dirty dances with you while managing not to spill his beer, looks good, most nights. And of course the tuxedo, if the circumstances merit.

Good shoes. But I mentioned this to a friend and she looked at me like I was nuts. Apparently I have a female version of the foot fetish. I have a real thing for a certain style of men's shoe. Gotta go buy some for Hubby.

And let us not forget the Marlboro Man. There is a guy I see from time to time, who is clearly not from the Happy Boondocks. Or, at least, not MY area of Boondockery. He is always in the tight little jeans, boots, leather jacket and cowboy hat. I never would have thought that was going to spin my wheels, but I tell ya, that guy moseys by and I take notice. I think if you can manage that look, you should give it a try. But you've gotta be trim. (As a chunky chick, I apologize for that requirement. I feel your pain, big men. I'm just tellin' it like it is.)

Playful clothing, also fun. A friend of ours wears Fun Stuff. You know, work shirts with weird names on them, tuxedo shirts with jeans, Chucks with his suit...the man looks great. But he is wearing Confidence, more than the clothes. And yes, he is also the only man who comes to mind who can wear an earring and not look ridiculous, to me. Women latch onto him so much, they stop other women just to shake their heads and say, "If he weren't married, I would be ALL OVER THAT." (I know, because a woman pulled me aside to say just that, a few weeks ago).

So as I thought of these various things I thought, "None of that sounds like lingerie."

The closest I could come was the jeans-and-no-shirt look. But, again, that one pretty much requires you can carry off the Marlboro Man, only better.

Any other options out there, that I have neglected?

Male readers, please feel free to walk around the cabin

Because right now, I am in Female Panic Mode. Why? Because I weighed myself yesterday, as I do each month, and I have gained 2 lbs.

Two damn pounds, and I feel like I need to breathe into a paper bag.

"Look," I tell myself. "I am a happily married, educated, financially secure woman with healthy, happy children and a budding career. My parents are healthy. My sister is dating someone who may end up part of the family. I love my blog (and people read it!). I get to go out, a couple times a month, to dance to music I enjoy and hang out with Hubby and have my ass grabbed (literally and figuratively) by guys who tell me how hot I am. I have friends I love, who love me back. I am, in short, in an enviable spot in life."

But what do I remember?

TWO POUNDS.

Gah. No wonder men think women are crazy.

At least my blog is kinda intelligent

Get a Cash Advance

On a semi-related note, a book fair came to the Sons' high school today. Son #2 looked, but soon realized he had no money and no interest in the books on offer, which, according to him, were not worth reading.

"Maybe they ARE high-school-appropriate books, but I think by the time you're in high school the only books worth reading are adult novels. Not 'Eleven Ways to Remain Celibate', which was pretty much all they had."

He has a penchant for exaggeration, my boy does.

Vert burrs? Rent buns? Vent bund?

My handwriting is deteriorating. I found something on my to-do list and have no idea what it means. The sad thing is, I wrote this list YESTERDAY. So, not only can I not read my own handwriting, I can't remember jack for 24 hours.

I think I need a night out. (except I just had one)

For Jill

This is the ladies' room at Boatman's Point Lookout, in Ridge, MD. I don't know why it is vertical in Shutterfly Studio AND Canon Image Browser, but comes out horizontal on the blog. So, please to tilt your head.

It doesn't look like much, but apparently it is a romantic hot spot. I know this because I spent quite a bit of time waiting for that couple to come out, so I could enter.

Musician's Wife

Hubby is playing a gig tonight. I am waiting for my curling iron to heat up, so I can be all fabu for tonight, while he packs up his gig bag.

And I've been thinking, lately: How did I end up a musician's wife? I mean, I think it's great. I LOVE going to see Hubby play. And I love listening to him practice, too. It's fun for me, and it's great to see him having fun. So no complaints. But I never dated a musician, before I met Hubby, and he wasn't playing in a band, when we met. How did I get here?

This is all I can come up with, at this point. Fellow musician's wives, please add to the list:

-I genuinely enjoy listening to the same bass line, all afternoon, until he gets it right.
-I have batteries and rubber bands, at all times.
-I gladly go out any night of the week and see, essentially, the same show.
-When women dance with Hubby's microphone, I smile at them...I may then dance BETWEEN them and said microphone, but I don't act snarky just 'cause Hubby is hot.
-I have a minivan. Which is great for last-minute runs to get the other instrument, another guitar stand, several jugs of iced tea, a throne for the drummer who forgot his, and a better shirt.
-When Hubby's band is playing, and any other band is also playing, I go see Hubby's band (and I usually keep my mouth shut about the other band, although I have been known to kvetch a little).
-I will dance with anything. Drunk, toothless, old, in a wheelchair, shorter than me (which is an achievement), whatever. I am all about getting people on the dance floor.
-I can say "Woooooo!" "Wooooooo!" is like "Aloha", for bars. It means anything and everything.
-I keep frozen pizza in the house at all times, so the Sons won't starve while I'm out partying
-I know what everyone in the band drinks, so I can run to the bar for them
-I hug all the drunken women

There's probably more that should be on the list. I'll be thinking, on my way to Boatman's tonight.

Oh, and one more thing: When Hubby and I had only been dating a few weeks, I took him to a music store and bought him a guitar. I had no idea this was crazy behavior. He, however, INSISTED that he pay me back. Which he did.

Years later, he explained that musicians are known for using their girlfriends to support their musical habit. He didn't want to give me the wrong impression. Which was very sweet of him.

The guitar was destroyed while we lived overseas, but he still has the memory of me stroking that check, in Chuck Levin's. I think maybe that made me a Musician's Wife Candidate.

Wooooooo!

Rhinestones vs Diamonds: A Tutorial

In my shopping online for Christmas presents, I found myself a cute little ring. It arrived the other day.

The Sons were shocked that I would buy myself a diamond ring, because those are EXPENSIVE. So I explained that this was only rhinestones, and cost me less than $12, including shipping.

Son #1 then opined that you can't tell the difference between diamonds and rhinestones, so only a moron would buy diamonds. This proves, in my mind, that he is a guy. Because you CAN tell the difference, and because only a man who doesn't love you would buy you rhinestones.

I explained this. "A woman can buy herself rhinestones. But an engagement ring needs to be a real diamond."

"Well, then, just buy rhinestones and tell her it's diamonds, and then use all the money you saved to buy yourself a car or a video game system or something."

Perhaps, when this comes up again, I will explain the charm of giving your future bride something she could hock, in extreme circumstances. Maybe that would appeal to his sense of practicality.

He's gonna bring home the crazy

One of the Sons has a disturbing taste for crazy girls.

Sure, he likes normal girls, in theory. But in practice, the ones that make his heart go completely nuts are the ones who are nuts themselves. The Son comes by this honestly, on both sides of the family. Mom & Dad are the sanest people out there, but we each dated a little of the crazy before settling down. Trust me on this.

Is it just me, or are crazy teenagers craziER than they were, when I was dating?

Hubby and I approached this from slightly different angles.

"Well, Son, you might want to consider that a girl with a history of (doing that crazy thing that set Hubby & me off) might go REALLY crazy, in times of stress. Like when you break up with her, which you almost certainly will."

(that was me)

"Look. Women are crazy. Relationships bring OUT the crazy. You don't want to start with a girl who already (did the crazy thing that set Hubby & me off). Find a girl who, when she goes crazy, cries to her mother or plays guitar or writes poetry or yells at her friends or something."

(that was Hubby, who has 2 ex-girlfriends who were still crazy, at last check, even though he's been married for nearly 20 years. Hubby drove at least 2 women completely batshit, so he KNOWS from crazy girlfriends.)

The next day, while all the Sons were sleeping and Hubby was in the kitchen with me watching his morning coffee drip, I whispered to him,

"That's the one who's going to give us a crazy daughter in law. We're going to be driving him to sit in the emergency room with Crazy Girlfriend. It's just a matter of time."

Hot Topic Wish List

ALF, who shot a man in Reno just to watch him die, blogged recently that EVERYONE should use gift registries, so we can buy gifts people actually like and will use.

Some people may have a problem with the practical, un-romantic nature of gift registries.

Those people are idiots.

Why do I say this?

Because for the past few days, my mother has been frantically calling and emailing, asking what to get the Sons for Christmas. 3 of the sons are Thinking. This takes a while. Which is making my mother crazy. She has no idea what to get, and doesn't like to wait until December to shop.

Son #1, however, created a Wish List at Hot Topic. And we emailed it to my mom. And she is buying him everything on his (admittedly short) list.

Son will be thrilled, come Christmas Day. My parents are ALREADY thrilled, because they are done shopping for him.

All hail the gift registry.

boy, are we married

A while back, an exceedingly attractive man struck up a conversation. I found myself rambling incoherently about my husband and children. After a few rounds of that, well, I don't have to worry too much about conversation, do I?

And I wasn't even doing it on purpose. I just couldn't help what came out of my mouth. I have never been so inarticulate and dull in my life.

So, if you are a man talking to me, and I start in on Hubby and the Sons, trust me, You Are Hot. Take it for the compliment it is.

Today, Hubby was out and a woman told him he has beautiful hair. Which he DOES. It's a shame he ever cuts it. And what was his response to said woman?

"Yeah, my wife tells me the same thing."

We are soooooo married. I am one lucky woman.

eBay

I'm doing my Christmas shopping on eBay, this year, if I can manage it. More cool stuff than is available in the Happy Boondocks, and no schlepping to the mall (which is an hour away, anyway).

But let me just say that shopping, and purchasing stuff, is a total waste of time.

The Name Game

I got this over at More, More, More
Feel free to try it, yourself. Clearly, I was meant to be a superhero, or a really hot detective.

10. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother & father's middle name) Maria Henry

9. NASCAR NAME: (first name of your mother's dad, fathers dad) Joseph Richard

8. STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, 2 letters of your first) Basch

7. DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, fav animal) Black Cat

6. SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born) Elizabeth Washington

5. SUPERHERO NAME: (2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning) The Green Tea (this makes me sound like some kind of modern, school-approved eco-hero)

4. FLY GIRL/GUY NAME: (1st 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name) Cham

3.. GANGSTA NAME: ( fav ice cream flavor, fav cookie) Coffee Brownie

2. ROCK STAR NAME: (current pets name, current street name) Ellie Camelot (or Otis or Jake Camelot, if I'm willing to be male, which I totally am, for the purposes of this meme)

1. STRIPPER NAME: ( name of your fav perfume/cologne, fav candy) Ginger Essence Butterfinger

Pointless Self-Help Advice of the Day

Read this one, this morning:

It is not men's acts which disturb us, but our reaction to them. Take these away, and anger goes.

--Marcus Aurelius

OK, M.A., I see your point. But isn't this, at some level, "Don't let things bother you, and things won't bother you." Kinda circular, if you ask me.

Not that I am a great thinker like Marcus Aurelius...just, you know, it's not all that helpful. Not to mention, sometimes anger is the appropriate response. Sometimes, men's acts are despicable, and we SHOULD react.

Shit! Shit! Viagra!

Phoenix Dating

Apparently I earned this rating, this week, because I said "shit" twice, and "Viagra" once. I will have to start cursing more, or discussing more icky products, to earn the coveted R rating.

Thank you, Veterans

When I was a kid, I distinctly remember arguing with my dad about War. I had been taught, in school, that War was bad. That America was imperialistic. And that the soldiers in Viet Nam had been baby-killing maniacs.

This was in the late 70s, I guess. What was I? 13? Old enough to think I knew shit, too young to realize I was just parroting the shit my teachers thought they knew.

My father is a calm man, by nature, and not one to rely on emotions to win an argument. He laid out the facts for me, as he saw them. He made a lot of sense, and eventually I ended up a lot more hawkish than Dad is.

A few months ago, Dad said something that shocked me. Not because it happened, but because he didn't tell me, all those years ago.

When he was coming home from Korea in the late 60s (they told him he could re-up and be sent to Viet Nam, or he could go home), people saw him in his Air Force uniform and called HIM a baby killer. My calm, loving, future Dad, who had spent his time in Korea fixing military vehicles and chatting up Korean bar girls and trying to learn the trumpet. They spat on Dad, in the airport. For wearing that uniform.

Today, I live in a Navy town. Hubby is a contractor, "supporting the War Fighter". And every single time I see someone in uniform, I want to stop them where they stand and THANK THEM for serving our country.

We are so damn fortunate to have people willing to fight for us. We are so privileged to have strong, dedicated patriots willing to do whatever it takes, to keep us safe and to maybe spread a little freedom, here and there. The world is a better place, because of the American military.

Thank you, Veterans. Thanks for all of it.

Boy Biting Update

It was in my gym bag.

I owe Son #2 a Coke.

And just to prove that I realize I am totally in the wrong here, I'm leaving BOTH posts up.

Mustn't....bite...boy

Son #2 has started Bogarting my hair straightening iron, before school. He doesn't use it where I keep it, he sneaks it into his bedroom and then, THEORETICALLY, returns it to its appointed spot.

Lately, though, it hasn't made the trip back out of Boy Lair. Not that I've cared, all that much. I figure, the less heat styling, the better, for my hair.

Tonight, however, I am going out to watch Hubby sit in with a local band.

This requires a modicum of cuteness, on my part.

I have the cool outfit. I even have the plastic shoes, reminiscent of my childhood. I would be painting my fingernails, too, if I weren't so ticked that I have to blog.

The iron is gone. He swears it is not in his bedroom. He is blaming his brothers (one who is, as I mentioned, sportin' a mighty Jewfro, and two who have naturally straight hair).

I mustn't bite the boy. I must paint my nails and hope he finds the darn thing.

And tomorrow, I buy a new one.

Chessboxing: Ultimate Man Competition

Yes, it is exactly what it sounds like.

And yes, I realize women play chess. And even box, nowadays. But, um, geez.

If they could incorporate building a functional shed and playing bass, I think the winner would be the most manly guy on the planet. He would be terrifying. His 5 o'clock shadow would kick Chuck Norris's butt. And all the women of the world would love him.

Unintended Consequences

Longtime readers may remember that last year, Son #1 was attacked by a much larger student, threw a few terrified punches in self-defense, and was suspended for the rest of the day. The other kid was suspended for more than a week, and when the school administration heard all the witness accounts, they said that it was clear that Son #1 was only defending himself. At the time, the vice principal told me it was the strangest fight he'd ever seen, because neither student had a visible injury.

Son #1 was concerned, last year, that when Marco returned to school he'd get creamed. But, somehow, things blew over.

As it happens, this year Son #1 and Marco are in a class together. And Marco clearly hates Son #1's guts, but doesn't do anything about it.

Son #1 explained to me, this morning, that the school rumor mill has given him an inflated reputation as "The skinny, white kid who beat Marco up".

People stop him in the halls, to congratulate him. "YOU are 'Jewfro'?? You beat Marco up? Wow!"

And he tries to correct the record. "Actually," he'll say, "I hit him 3 times, and he was fine, and it hurt my hand."

But The People will have none of it. Son #1, aka 'Jewfro'*, has street cred, thanks to the rumor mill.

It's like he accidentally, against his will, took that advice they give to new prison inmates: find the biggest, scariest, toughest guy in the yard, and punch him, and you'll never have to fight again.

I hope it sticks.

*Son #1 has inherited my curly hair. He lets it grow. He is shaggy and adorable.

The Sons are also, coincidentally, 1/8 Jewish, through their paternal great-grandfather. Which we have explained to them means they are "Jewish enough to be stuffed into a cattle car bound for Auschwitz, but not Jewish enough for a bar mitzvah."

Down here in the Happy Boondocks, that is pretty darn Jewish, somehow. And people really can't believe that he gets his Jewfro from the Italian/British side of the family.

Also, "Sky Blue"

Women in the Muslim world are oppressed, compared to women in the West.

Who'da thunk?

Go, Peggy, Go!

Read this and had to agree. She sums up my problem with certain rarified types, and hints at my frustration with women who say they'll vote for Hillary Clinton because she's a woman.

Because, honestly, that is the dumbest reason to vote for someone. She will not be in charge of giving birth to the nation or lapdancing for it or teaching it how to apply lip gloss. She will, if she wins, be the PRESIDENT. She needs to be able to run the country and scare the bejebus out of the bad guys. If you think she's the best person for that, AMEN, vote for her. If the only good thing you can think of is that she's a symbol for all us chicks, ugh.

I guess I'll have the beef.

Bats

We have bats in our attic. A whole little family. Maybe six bats, altogether. They huddle on the screen at the end of our attic.

Every winter, they leave for Mexico, or so the agricultural extension people say. They also say that bat guano is the best fertilizer on the planet. Which is fabulous, but I have zero interest in gardening.

There are 2 kinds of people, so far:

People who wax rhapsodic about the happy plants I'd have, if I let my bats live in peace in my attic.

and

People who completely freak out, and are certain we're all going to get rabies, if we don't kill all the bats.

According to the agricultural extension people, killing the bats is not only unnecessary, it is just bad mojo. They suggested, last year, that we find where they go in and out, and block it. We did that. Hubby and I found the chewed piece of screen, and removed it, and replaced it with heavy-duty, pest-proof screen.

The bats did not care. They returned, this summer. They are more powerful than the staples that we used to attach the screen. They LOVE our attic.

So, it's getting cold, again. The bats should be moving soon.

Poky Redhead suggested I get an electronic pest annoying machine, to confuse the bats upon their return. Plug it in, it makes crazy soundwaves, the bats hate it, they leave. I bought one, today.

Son #1 says it would be better to just let him shoot them all, with his airsoft gun.

Bastante Already: For Christine ...

Bastante Already: For Christine ...

Holy crap! Kim put up a blog post just for me!

If you haven't already become hooked on Kim's blog, this is the perfect excuse to go visit. She is the queen of awesome. Even the deer love her.

But she keeps her bananas around waaaay too long.

Son #1: Secret Chimp

Yesterday, I bought 2 bunches of bananas. I ate two bananas. Yum, I love bananas.

Today, I ate a banana.

The bananas are all gone.

Son #1 ate about 10 bananas, in less than 24 hours. Now I understand all those people who said that, with 4 sons, I would never be able to keep food in the house. Hubby has taken to hiding food he likes in a secret area of the house, because otherwise it is gone before he has a chance to eat any of it.

And yes, thank God, again, for SuperWalMart, home of abundant, cheap, beautiful produce.

Germ transmission: Also, somehow my fault

Sons #3 and 4 just got over strep throat. So you know what's next. This morning, Son #2 woke up with a sore throat. And this is what he said, about it:

"You need to tell them to stop leaving their cups out. Because I drank one of their drinks, and now I'm sick."

Now, PLEASE. As the person who gets stuck doing the dishes almost every single time, I have definitely told EVERYONE in the house, repeatedly ad nauseum, to put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Last thing I need is some teenager telling me that I need to nag his brothers for something I am already nagging everyone about, BECAUSE I HATE TO NAG.

But, um, what made the Arbiter of Effective Parenting decide that drinking someone else's abandoned beverage was a good idea? Especially when he knew that 2 members of his household had communicable diseases?

Yup. Son #2 has a sore throat that happened to him because I didn't nag his brothers. NOT because he drank some unidentified substance.

Flip side of the eternal question

After Son #2 contemplated the difference between men and women, Son #1 gave me the perfect example of same:

"Dylan is hilarious! I mean, he can be a jerk, but he is so funny! Today, at lunch, he ate a candy bar, and then he put the empty wrapper on it, and had it hanging out of his zipper. And he got someone to touch it, hanging out there in the candy wrapper, but he didn't know it was in the wrapper. And then the lunch monitor started coming our way, so Dylan just figured, what the hell, and jumped on a table and started dancing, and it was still hanging out of his zipper, in the candy wrapper."

There are myriad reasons why this is the perfect example of boy vs girl behavior.

First of all, only a teenage boy would wrap his genitalia in a candy wrapper. Girls, even if our genitalia were easily wrappable, just wouldn't do it.

And encourage someone to touch it, through the wrapper.

And only another teen boy would actually DO that. Wrapper, or no.

And faced with an angry lunch monitor, only a boy would have the nerve to leave said "candy" dangling, while they danced on a lunch table.

And only a teen boy would come home and take about 10 minutes to tell this story, because he was laughing so hard he could barely speak.

See, girls would just be mortified. I'm amazed Dylan hasn't been hit with a sexual harassment suit.

Ah, the eternal question

Son #2 came home from school, and asked:

"Why are girls so complicated? One day they love me, and the next day they find me completely repulsive. But you love me all the time."

As Norman Bates said, "A boy's best friend is his mother."

Working on my new website

Poky Redhead, who originally goaded me into launching this blog, has spent the past few months telling me to get off my butt, already, and revamp my out-of-date website. Add content! Make it my own! Advertise! Use it as an inspiration to write more, photograph more, and generally throw myself into the whole career thing, instead of thinking about it and painting my nails while listening to blues music.

Now, thinking, nail-painting, and blues definitely have their place. But Poky Redhead is right. It's time.

So, I am working on a new website. SiteBuilder makes the web site part pretty easy. But the deciding---that is a killer. What do I really want? Where do I want to go with this?

So, you know, when it's ready, I'll let you know. And your job is to look at it and tell me I am fabulous, and then tell all your friends that they need me. Are we all on board?

Viva Viagra?

Dinner is over, so I am washing dishes. Which means I am also watching the news. Apparently, evening news watchers are not just dishwashing 40-year-olds, like me. Why, you ask? Because I was just treated to the latest Viagra commercial.

As the couple danced across the floor, shooting each other significant looks (he: "Hey, baby, my parts work!" she: "Am I crazy, or am I actually going to GET SOME tonight?") I was thinking the same two things I always think, when confronted with a Viagra commercial.

Firstly, "Boy, I must be watching a show that older men watch."

And secondly, and most importantly, "Thank God I am married to a young man."

Yeah, I said it. Scoot on over to Hubby's blog, and see if he's blushing.

A book, a movie, a CD

Someone asked me, recently, what I'm reading (not much, lately). And of course MySpace has that "what are you listening to" thingy. And I read a movie review, the other day, that made me want to watch the movie.

So, here's one of each, for all y'all.

The Sparrow, by Mary Doria Russell. Oooh, I loved that book. Science fiction, theology, faith and betrayal and naivete and heartbreaking loss. Have you read it? Probably not, or you'd still be talking about it, with me. Now that I think of it, I think I'll read it again.

I've been listening to The Beatles' "One" CD, in the kitchen, and ACME Blues Company's "I Think I Made It", in the car. And lots of Green Day, of course, because Son #1 has eased back into Green Day, thank God. Soooo much better than some of the stuff he's been listening to, of late.

Last night, I watched Pootie Tang. It came out years ago, but apparently I missed it, at the time. RENT THIS MOVIE, it is hysterical. Son #1 thought it was pretty funny, too.

What it takes to be cool

For the record, I've never really managed "cool".

In recent years, though, I've kind of thought that maybe, in my circle, at least, I am one of the cooler people. Ha. Just ask a 16 year old.

As last night's party approached, I overheard Son #1 talking excitedly with his first party guest.

"I can't WAIT to meet ----'s Mom. She listens to System of a Down! She really cranks it up! They mosh pit TOGETHER! And sometimes, she doesn't even cook dinner, she's been head banging all day. She sounds soooooo coooooool."

I, in the next room, of course, thought, "She sounds soooooo depressed."

But what do I know? Me and my classic rock, funk, blues, folk, jazz, and hot dinner.