Today is National Relaxation Day. I’d celebrate by remaining in my PJs all day, but I did that on Monday. Skipping chores and oversleeping’s out, too: that was me yesterday.

Since our local weatherman is predicting this to be the hottest day of the summer thus far — over 101 F, they say — it’s just too hot to do much in the way of celebrating National Relaxation Day.

A nap? Sure, I’d love one but it’s our first week back-to-homeschool so chances are I won’t get that chance. Yoga? A long, solo walk this evening? A little time puttering around in the garden? Nah, that all sounds like work to me and that, really, is the antithesis of relaxation.

But wait, isn’t it also National Failures Day? See, now, that’s something I can celebrate: my failure to do anything to mark National Relaxation Day. Or does such a celebration mean actually having succeeded at failing and, therefore, having violated the spirit of National Failure Day?

Oh, the mind. It reels.

Maybe I ought to head back to bed.

Remember when science used to be, well, a science? Now it seems as if scientific reports are little more than flim-flam jobs. Take today’s report on the link between prostate cancer and multivitamin intake:

Men taking multi-vitamin supplements often may increase their risk of death from prostate cancer, according to a new study published in the May 16 issue of the Journal of the National Cancer Institute.

But experts caution that the study could not establish a causal relation between the risk and use of multivitamins, meaning multivitamin use does not necessarily raise the death risk associated with prostate cancer.

In other words: scientists made money reporting absolutely nothing.

You don’t need to have a penis to wince at story of an Australian man who got his “equipment” caught in a saw, nor to chuckle over the picture accompanying the story.

Great. The list of superficial things women are supposed to worry about just got longer:

• Full, shiny, lustrous hair.
• Hair that’s fashionably styled and colored.
• Botox for inevitable forehead wrinkles.
• Eyelash extensions.
• Having the “right” eye color.
• Well-arched eyebrows.
• Eyelids that don’t sag.
• Perfectly lined eyes with well-colored crease.
• Fresh, dewy skin.
• No visible pores.
• No blemishes.
• No acne scars.
• No “crows feet.”
• Pert little nose.
• Well-defined cheekbones.
• Hair-free upper lip.
• Full, pouty lips… that don’t leave kiss-marks.
• Straight, and preferably very white, teeth.
• Firm, non-jowly jawline.
• Wrinkle-free neck.
• Decollete unmarred by age spots.
• All-year, all-over bronzed skin.
• Hairless arm-pits… that are moisturized, no less!
• No body odor.
• No “backne.”
• Perky boobs. Size only somewhat negotiable.
• Upper arms that don’t wobble.
• Elbows that don’t look dry, dark or scaly.
• Hands that don’t reveal one’s age.
• Well-shaped nails with or without nail polish.
• No ragged cuticles.
• Flat, or at least non-saggy abs.
• Nicely maintained bikini line. Cute shape optional.
• Panties that don’t look like Grandma’s.
• Booty that bounces just enough… but not too much.
• No cellulite.
• Firm, smooth thighs.
• Shapely calves.
• Thin ankles.
• Well-pedicured, moisturized feet… in leg-enhancing heels.
• Prettily painted toenails (somewhat negotiable).

And the list just got longer:

1. Rosy nipples, albeit artificially enhanced.

This might be why so many women resort to buying plastic phallic “friends” rather than deal with the load of crap we’re expected to endure just to be attractive enough to get some.

It’s a head of lettuce! It’s a leafy green! It’s a safe!

That’s right: a safe. Apparently, it’s just one of many “diversion safes” out on the market these days.

There’s even one that looks like a pair of, well, nasty underwear. (Doo Drops are, apparently, optional.)

Frankly, I’ll stick with the bank. Thanks.