We're totally famous!!

OMG, people, we're totally famous now! Julie F did a nice write-up for Wheaton Sport Center's Sport Report... and there we are, all gorgeous on page 5.




If this were Britain, and we were on page 3 in the tabloids, we'd possibly have had to pose topless, so thank goodness for small mercies!






Of course we could have looked much worse in the photo. How about these two?



I think this last photo demonstrates quite clearly that you can lose too much weight. Let's be moderate, okay, guys? Also highlights the importance of having a competent publicist, like Julie F, rather than relying on some hack photographer at a 4th rate rag who'll just make you look emaciated and drawn.


Anyway, on to the dieting news. My trainer Emily F was emphasizing to me yesterday the importance of drinking lots of water. In fact, she took me by surprise when she turned to me and asked me point blank, "What do you drink the most?"

Well, heck, that's kind of personal, isn't it? I elected not to tell her about all the tequila from the night before, but mumbled something about orange juice and Perrier.

"Perrier? Sparkling water? Good grief, is that it?"

"Well," I said, "Eleanore's been encouraging me to drink Diet Coke. She brings a bottle for me for every match."

Emily's beautiful hazel eyes popped opened wide. "What? Eleanore's been encouraging you to drink pop? Diet pop? I need to have a little chat with that girl!"

Oh oh. I tried to back-track.

"Well, I don't drink much of it, really, but plain water is so ... unrefreshing."

Emily laughed. "Okay. Here's your assignment. Whatever you weigh in pounds, halve that. That's how many ounces of water you should be drinking a day."

My mind was spinning. One hundred fifty seven divided by 2. Long division, carry the one... Sheesh, where was a calculator?

"Round it up to 80 oz. That's about right." No leeway with Emily F. She's tough! "And if you drink lots of water, it really does help you lose weight. Seriously. Try it."

"But, Emily, I just want to emphasize, it wasn't only Eleanore influencing me regarding Diet Coke! Really! It's also television, and cultural influences, and all that kind of thing."

"Hmpfh!" sniffed Emily. "What could you possibly be talking about?"

Well, this, for example.



Or this...



Doesn't it make you want to run right out and buy a case or two of Diet Coke? I mean really!

THWACK Round 2

And now, let's get going. You're ready to take the plunge, aren't you?




Once, on a holiday out on the Pacific Ocean, I jumped off a cliff just like this. Needless to say, it didn't go as planned. I stumbled a little, right at the edge, and tumbled arse over teakettle into the sea. The problem really came about because I was having one last cigarette* before the jump -- a little case of nerves, I'm afraid (I know, me??) -- and I dropped my lighter, which skittered over the edge, and there you go!

And there I went right after it!

I'm sure you're rolling your eyes, because who the heck dives headfirst after a Bic? But of course, it was a vintage Dupont in a Dunhill case, given to me by the most charming young aristocrat when I was holidaying at the casinos** in Monaco. I've actually now forgotten his name, but naturally a girl never forgets her first classic lighter. Gosh, such a tragic loss. If there'd been any justice in the world, the charming young aristocrat would have gone over the edge of the cliff instead of the lighter, because he really was rather a tosser. Filthy rich but a bit feeble in the brains department. Too much interbreeding in royal families in Europe, if you ask my opinion on the matter.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure I landed in the water with an entirely enormous THWACK, but I don't remember a thing, having hit my head somewhere on the way down.

When I awoke, lying on the sand, still ravishingly beautiful yet at the same time ever so slightly concussed, it was to a crowd of faces circled directly above me, all looking very concerned.

"What happened?" I asked.

A blond Californian-type girl breathily answered me.

"OMG, you totally fell into the water all sideways. We all thought you were totally dead or something!"

Hmmm, reassuring.

"So who rescued me, then?" I asked, "Was it Mr. D?"

I looked around for my dear husband.

"OMG, no, are you kidding? He's out on the links! Don't you remember?"

Ah yes, golfing. Of course!

So who did pull me from the sea's briny depths?

"It was him!" as California girl pointed toward the shore...




Oh yeaaaahhhhh. It's all coming back to me now.... Naturally, I bought my surfing saviour a few drinks and rewarded him amply and generously for his good deeds. As one does.

He seemed relaxed and exhausted but happy when he wandered off down the beach a few hours later. These young lads! Stamina's not always what you'd expect, but then he did wear himself out rescuing me from Davy Jones' locker, so who am I to kvetch? He made me promise to call him next time I'm in the area. Begged, really.

I'll have to think about it, because of course you know I'm always so busy! Plus I'm not always so sure about Mr. D's golf schedule, which is kind of a key detail to have to hand when you're making plans with vague surfer boys who haven't a clue about tee times and whatnot. It's hard to keep all this sh** straight. I'm easily confused and slightly forgetful which makes catting around pretty much impossible for me. I imagine that one has to be able to remember the lies one tells, and I can't even remember what I had for breakfast! (Probably granola and yogurt, but then again, that might have been yesterday. Or the day before! Do we still have eggs? Why is this empty marmalade jar sitting on the countertop? *sigh* Sometimes I just don't know what I'm doing, or what I've done. I'd like to think it makes me enigmatic and mysterious, but on a bad day it just looks like dementia, fo' sho'.)


Okay gang -- time to think of swimsuits and of hot weather and of sultry summer evenings and of that trickle of sweat slipping all the way down from the nape of your neck to the small of your back in the heat of midday. Because sumer is icumin in and we all need to be ready for bared bodies and slimmer selves. Hope you've set yourself a new attainable goal that will make you feel happier when you achieve it. You'll be sliding into a smaller sized suit for sure. Why not listen to this Nat King Cole version of this lovely song as well, to get you in the mood for sunshine? Summer is a comin' in.... ! It's true!!! [Click on those linky things... they're really nice!!]

Best of luck for round 2. Drink more water, exercise a little bit more or a little bit longer, add one new thing to your daily sport routine, or cut out one snack. Substitute a piece of fruit for a cookie. (I know, I know! What a bore!) Go out for a walk at the witching hour of 5-7 when most unconscious snacking occurs. Take up a hobby that keeps your hands busy and makes eating impossible. (Drawing, knitting, painting, piano.) Ummm. That's probably the extent of my good advice. Go through your clothes closet and pack away all the fat jeans. You won't be needing them soon! Other ideas?

Fall in love. Get a puppy. Write in a journal instead of eating. Think about awareness. Eat consciously, only when you're truly hungry, and stop before you're truly full.

Let's get going!

xx e


* I quit smoking a while ago, really!

** I don't gamble, in truth. I'm way too cheap. Even a buck lost in the slots is too much for me.
(I'm saying this just so you don't think I'm REALLY a terrible person! A gambler! *sharp intake of breath*
I definitely don't want to have my Wheaton/Glen Ellyn citizenship stripped from me in some publicly humiliating fashion. Though the stocks could be fun. Where exactly are those located in Wheaton? Town hall? Train station???)

Next Round -- Your response required!!

Hi everyone --

We're starting a new THWACk! 2 plan, as you probably divined from Eleanore's email.

There are two different options for you this time.

1) You can choose option 1, where you weigh in with Eleanore, and you receive her emails with weekly reminders and weigh-in details. I think we are also going to have Eleanore collect the money this time, because as usual I got confused and probably someone used someone's $25 for beer and cigarettes and sex toys. (Not me! Heavens! I hate beer!) (Also, Dori and Sharon, I owe you each $12.50, because of that last $25: don't you think I should have checked in with Eleanore earlier on the financials? I knew I was a little off, but... no harm done, I hope. Anyway, soon to be sorted out. That £25 isn't going to finance my condo in Miami Beach, I'm afraid. Or the one at Chamonix!)


In any case, you'll be fully up-to-date and on-time simply by subscribing to Eleanore's updates.




2) Option 2, and you must opt IN for this (send me an email to let me know you want to stay on the list), is that you also get gratis my emotional and inspiring emails. They are really superfluous to the basic details of the plan, but I definitely don't want to harass you or fill up your inbox with debris. I'm very conscious that, one, we are in Wheaton, and two, humor is very individual. Be warned, I tamed myself down for THWACk! ONE, so heaven only knows what will come through your inbox this time round. It might be slightly saucier than THWACk! ONE, but it will definitely not be as disgusting as Tiger Woods' sext texts which I've been reading avidly non-stop since last night. Good Lord, I can't help myself. My heavens, that man has some wrong ideas, which I won't get into here, but...! What wouldn't we give these days, for boring old Arnold Palmer, fat Jack Nicklaus, and drunken John Daly? I mean, really!?!?!?? Golf's totally gone to the dogs. Men and their putters. Crickey. I could write a book.

Someday....



If you choose to opt in, be aware that I've been using my imagination and scouring the internet for the best of handsome men (oddly, mostly on gay guys sites; who knew?), gorgeous semi-clothed women, extreme sport (naked paragliding, here we come!), and arty shots of whatever -- flowers, dominatrixes, lovely but dangerously tall stilettos, tattoos, kittens, and fantasy holidays. You never know what you'll get with me.



So those are your choices.

Price is still the same, $25 to Eleanore...

Weigh-ins are still weekly...

Set yourselves a goal, my friends, and..... we're OFF!

THWACk! 2 - The Memorial Day Weekend Challenge!!!! Let's have the next one end on Tuesday, May 25th. Memorial Day is May 31st. That's 9 more weeks -- very symmetrical, don't ya think?





I perhaps will wear my monokini into the WSC pool if I meet my goal. Are there rules about that kind of thing at our club? Should I ask John B? Or apply for permission to the owners? Any advice, do let me know. (I'd hate to make an ass of myself.) (Or make too much of a splash.) I'm thinking, a dip in the main pool about 10am on a Tuesday, early June. That'd get the old guys going, the ones who have their coffee hour in the main lounge area. Or it might kill 'em off. Their hearts, you know! Good thing we have this new Obama heath care plan with universal coverage. There may be a new western suburbs epidemic of blindness, I'm imagining....





That's not a monokini, and her body is 10,000 times nicer than mine. So this photo is totally irrelevant, but I just thought I'd throw it in. For your reading pleasure.


(You're welcome.)




Somehow, I'm thinking that if there's no alcohol allowed at WSC, there's certainly no topless bathing. This is not the Cote d'Azur, is it?










(Although all the men at the WSC pool are topless. What the heck's up with that? Some of those old dudes even have moobs! Horrifying! )

Harummph. Life's just not fair.



And yet....





Maybe I can talk someone into modeling the Borat suit I've already purchased. Ladies? Bets? Who thinks I can talk someone into a photo shoot by our final deadline?




Send me your bets, if you're willing to dare. Who, and how much??? I totally bet I can get at least two guys to model my suit. There, you're on!

[Must participate in the contest to win... Good luck!]

xx e




.

So close to the end of this crazy diet!

AWESOME, gang! I'd like to say it was my emails inspiring you, but I think really all the accolades go to Eleanore for thinking up the idea, and to each of you individually, for pulling through, and dropping the weight! Well done, all around!

A few more days, and we can reward ourselves. I know what's waiting for me....



Whoops, OMG! Wrong photo...!





I told Mr D no cameras are allowed upstairs in zee boudoir!!! Does he ever listen? Noooooo......









Oh, gadfry, wrong again!

This one is a whole 'nother story. Why I don't golf, in short. (Or in shorts.....)







There, yeah, maybe this photo is better, by a small margin. Enjoy, mes amies!

Keep at it with the small nibbles, girls, the end is in sight!

x e

Team photo, with water polo team "extras"

Hi gang --

Well, Eleanore's issued another one of her directives, and it's to "be there or be square" tomorrow on Court 11 for a group photo at high noon.

Be sure to wear your most flattering tennis outfit -- I'm going with black or dark brown again, and my usual sexy red lippy. Wear whatever makes you look and feel smashing.

Don't be like this poor fool below, showing up in street attire when you should be looking sporty and fitting in with the rest of the team, either!



See how angry his friends are? And the coach?

"Pleeese, kill me now!! I am so sorry to not fit in. I forgot my little checkered pants!"

Better to do like the Hungarian water polo team has done.






Look -- all the same uniform, with "Hungary" plastered across their butts. Though a little worrying, as they've stuffed their caps in the backs of their suits... aren't you hoping those little hats are disposable? Eeeeewwwww!

Ta ta for now.

xx e

Building a lifetime of good habits

Hi gang --

Well, it's pretty clear that I've worked awfully hard on building a lifetime of BAD habits, but I'm slowing working them out, one bad habit at a time. Partying too hard? No longer, not when bed-time is at about 10:30pm. Mindless snacking? No way, not when I'm working so hard to keep that $325 out of Sharon T's hot little hands! It's looking good, at this point, that there will at least be a two or three or four way split of the kitty -- which signifies success all around. And Eleanore's update the other day, that our group has lost a total of 46 lbs -- well that's just simply astounding. You guys are incredible! Julie F's going to write us up in the club newsletter, apparently. Prepare yourselves for the inevitable photo-shoot and interviews. Fame can be challenging to deal with, as I know only too well, but I'm sure you'll enjoy joining me (if only for a moment) in the limelight.

The book group I'm in is reading "Younger Next Year" which is a super read about turning back the "aging clock" -- even at an advanced age like **cough, cough** fifty-two which is where I just pegged in (the horrified look on Eleanore's face was priceless!). Getting rid of bad habits, and developing new good habits, is the focus of the book. So, no smoking. No drunkenness. No promiscuity or cheating on your partner. All very obvious.

And then you're supposed to add in "healthy eating" and "really vigorous exercise, 6 days a week".

Did you hear that? SIX DAYS A WEEK.

We all know it's a challenge to get a foursome together for tennis some times, and doing it six days a week is probably close to impossible. But you don't have to rely on tennis for your workout, and the way some of us play some days, you definitely shouldn't count it as part of your cardio. That's what the gym is for, kids.

Or the pool.

I really get my heart rate up in the Pilates studio too. Here's an ex-boyfriend of mine from Jo'burg, Piet van der Merwe, doing a version of the Pilates "Teaser".



He's very much a tease, don't you think?

Seriously, an hour in the Pilates studio is a killer. Mat pilates, free for club members, meets mornings and evenings, and studio Pilates is on offer most days at scheduled times. I always feel completely tested after a session. And I do notice that I have a waist again, after 5 months of this. Most incredible abs workout ever.



This guy has probably been doing Pilates his whole life, and doesn't he look hot? I'm going down to Rio for the next year's Carnival, specifically to look him up. (Silvio, don't forget to text me your number so you can pick me up at the airport!)

Here's a photo of me from Carnival three years ago -- I'm the one in the front.

Obviously, because what kind of tart gets her belly button pierced? Not me, that's for sure!




On the other hand, if you swim in the pool (Patrice and I have been swimming 60-80 lengths at a session), you can also develop a reasonably nice lookin' bod. For example....







Obviously, today I'm really liking the color RED. We're all about heart-health here, so get in that gym, or that pool, or that cardio class, or pilates studio!

We've got about a week and a half to go until the final weigh in, so c'mon and pour it on!

As a personal reward for myself, a bunch of the gals have booked themselves into the spa, for manicures, pedicures, and so on. I myself have booked a massage, because I prefer to be naked when people are paying attention to me, but that's just me. You might be different.

Good luck in the final 10 days!

xx e


.

New team uniforms!!!

Hi all --

Well, we're getting closer to the end -- only two weeks left. I myself have only five pounds left to lose, which as Eleanore says, "is possible". That girl is SUCH a positive thinker. We should bottle her and sell her essence online. "Eau d'Eleanore" (eet zounds zo French, oui?) -- makes you crazily optimistic, super smiley, wildly competitive, and smell nice too! She's been looking for a tennis-related business opportunity and with her MBA and brand-management skills, I think she could make this one fly, don't you agree? Our other idea is tennis panties that say "KICK ASS" on the backside. Or maybe sports bras with bull's-eyes printed on 'em, with the tag line, "Go ahead, Bee-yatch, peg me here! I dare ya!)

In other news, I attended the team captains' meeting this afternoon as an uninvited guest, and I want to be the first to tell you that they've chosen the team uniforms for next year already. I know you're irritated that you didn't get to have a vote, but you'll be over it once you take a peek.


This is the uniform for home matches.






And here's the one for "away"...



Personally, I like both red and black, so I'm entirely happy. Plus all those ties and laces will accentuate our new figures in ways that will be totally intimidating to the opposite team. They'll just probably forfeit most matches, weeping with envy.

I lurvvvvvve to break people's spirits.

Naturally, you're also free to wear these in your spare time at home. Your husbands will be glad you've taken up the noble pursuit of tennis.

But gosh, you're wondering about other stuff, like "Ellie, what did you do all weekend?"

Indeed, what did I do? Well, I celebrated yet another birthday, which makes me horrifyingly older than many of you young things (ELEANORE! Ellen! Sue M! the rest of you!) Yet I thoroughly enjoyed it, and my darling husband treated me like the adorable creature I am. The main thing he did for me this weekend, while I slaved away doing the grocery shopping, working on the church's capital campaign, and cooking and prepping for a dinner party for eight ON MY BIRTHDAY was that he relaxed in his burgundy leather chair and watched the golf on tv.

"WHAT?????"

I know, you're all screaming at him for me, outraged on my behalf. But wait. Wait till you hear what he gave me for my special day.

I was rushing past, dusting, and grilling tomatoes, and peeling avocados, and such, and I looked up and... I stopped in my tracks.

PHWOARRRRR! [That's British for, "I'll have some o' that!"]

There on the television screen was this:



I know! You were thinking golf as in "Jack Nicklaus" and "Arnold Palmer" and poor old pudgy "John Daly". And Tiger, well, we won't even mention his name, hey? He almost succeeded in putting me off golf entirely. Dork!

Ever so casually, I said to Mr. D, "Oh, my! Who's that?"

He raised an eyebrow and sent me a knowing glance.

"Good call, my darling pet. He's Camilo Villegas, the latest golf phenom from Columbia. And all the ladies like him, because he checks out his lies by doing two finger push-ups on the green."



Looks like four fingers and a thumb to me, but I'm not going to quibble.





Man, my husband knows me so well! It's good when one has that kind of relationship -- where he can appreciate the art of sport, and steer me to a deeper understanding of the nuances of good play. I have to say, he made my birthday super special.

I also booked a ticket for Camilo to come visit us here in Chicago. Maybe Mr D will take him up to play at Medinah, and I can cook him up something special for later. We shall see.

And on that note, now I'm going to practice my putting on the carpet in the basement. I have a lot of catching up to do.


Ta ta for now.

x e


.

16 No saucy stuff, and a reprieve!

Hello, all!

Many of you will be surprised when I tell you that I have not always been the glamorous, fashionable and worldly sophisticate you see before you today. No, far from it. Instead, I was the whipping girl of the 7th and 8th grade at Madison West Junior High. Mocked, laughed at, and reviled.

I had the misfortune of having two popular but rather witless friends in junior high school, named Heidi and Cyndy. They began to torment me early in 7th grade, by befriending me, and then turning on me the next instant. In my misguided attempt to be liked, I gullibly took their suggestions and followed their orders, only to be ridiculed for doing so. Cyndy would suggest I go to Gimbel's department store, to buy the latest frock; I would badger my mother into letting me go, spending the last pennies of my allowance on said dress, and would then show up at school in it, only to be hooted out of the room. "Look, she bought that? Gaw!!!! I took Heidi's advice, getting my long and beautiful hair cut very short, and was met with, "It looked better before. I shouldn't have said to cut it!"

This went on for months. I tried to find other friends, I tried to ignore them. Then one of the two would make some peaceful kind of overture, and I would think, "There! It's all over! They've gotten it out of their systems!" And I would be sucked in once more, only to be washed up on the shores of despair again a few weeks later.

I finally hardened myself to their tricks, but they upped their game.

In general science class, midway through 8th grade, I received a folded up piece of paper, passed to me. I'd heard rustling and giggles all through the science hour, and thought it was kids laughing about the "drug education" we were supposed to be getting. It being Madison, I think most of the kids could have taught the class, but there you are.

I unfolded the paper, and saw written, in Heidi's dreadfully hideous schoolgirly handwriting, a long letter detailing all my flaws. I was ugly. I wore stupid and dorky clothes. My skin was disgusting. My purse was out of fashion. My hair was terrible, poorly cut and greasy (not true, I promise you!). I was too smart. I was a suck-up. I was good in Home Ec (!), nobody liked me. My few friends were queer and nincompoopy, just like me.

And then, as I turned over the paper to read page two of this amazing opus, I realized, "It's a flippin' petition!" It was signed by most of the people in my science class! One girl signed her name, and then wrote "sort of" after, which either meant that she "sort of" agreed, or that she was only "sort of" herself. I think she was high most of the time by 7th period science, so maybe the latter.

Heidi and Cyndy were besides themselves with giggles, and I was shocked to death.

I'd vowed not to care about what they thought of me anymore, but this was very hard to take....

Fast forward.... I spent the next 33 years worrying, even obsessing about what people thought of me. Was I rude? Polite? Fashionable? Geeky? Nice? Mean? Friendly? Cold? Everything was an exercise in self-analysis. Who are all those people and what do they think of me? It was tiring and pointless and a waste of time, really. As a friend said to me today, "You can't control what other people think, or how they react to you. You're just responsible for your own thoughts and feelings." EXACTLY.

And then there was the truly freeing moment, when everything shifted, just over four years ago. (If you want to, you can read about it here.) I had the refreshing and life-changing experience of having a heavy black handgun held, just touching my chest, just where my heart was hammering wildly inside. And then again, a few moments later, the gun was touching me again, at the back of my head, just behind my left ear, where all my conflicting thoughts were battling each other inside ("run! stay calm! talk! don't! listen carefully! listen! shut up and do what you're told!")

I lived. Yeah, I lived!!! Just luck really. They could've just as easily shot us all that Monday morning.

And since then, I've been pretty good at living for today, and mostly not sweating the small stuff. Because after all, what's worse than lying face down with your skull in fragments and your brains splattered all over the walls? Not much, probably.

I got a bloody reprieve.

Every day is a gift, and I'm so glad of it.


But guess what!!! ??? !!!

You too get a reprieve! Yes you do! Your life is to be changed from this very instant!

Because at a meeting last night of the executive committee of THWACk! it was decided that an extra week will be added to the contest! As Sharon T (current front-runner and all-around excellent and beautiful creature) graciously explained it, "We really want everyone to succeed. And we don't want to think about Sue and Deb and all those guys dieting on their fabulous spa/tennis holiday down in Florida!!"

So yes, friends, the final weigh-in will be March 23rd, rather than March 16th.

Don't you feel like you dodged a bullet?

xxx e



.

Truth or fiction?

Oh dear.

A few of you have been pestering me, asking over and over and over again, "Ellie, are these stories all TRUE? And what does your husband say about all of this nonsense?"

Ah, yes, the esteemed Mr D. What does he think?

Let's leave that for a moment, and address the question at hand. Are these stories all true?

I'm afraid not. There are little tiny snippets of truth woven inside and between some mighty and long extravagant and outrageous lies. Good thing, right? Although a friend pointed out today that it would be a good explanation for all the moving our family has done. We live in a place just long enough for me to blacken my reputation and then I get run out of town on a rail, tarred and feathered. The scarlet "A" and all of it.

Nawwww, it ain't like that. My record is as pure as the driven snow. I don't even cheat on line calls, unlike some of you, and certainly not on my lovely husband! He recognizes my artistic gifts and tolerates them, although he did have a little wonder about my Scottish "boyfriend". Apparently my description of Angus's breakfasts (porridge and cream, quails' eggs, and haggis) was so convincing that he was slightly concerned that the rest of it was all true as well. Poor baby! I went ahead and bought him a Borat swimsuit to make amends, which thrilled him to bits. He's promised to model it for us, and is doing extra crunches at the gym to prepare for the photo shoot. That's my honeybun!

Besides, there's no room to stitch a scarlet letter onto a turquoise monokini, so there you are. My reputation is intact. Qui pro quo. Or quod erat demonstrandum is what I meant to say, I think. Q.E.D. So there. Proved! (Gosh, Latin is hard!)

And that's that. I like to think of myself as Glen Ellyn's Scheherazade, spinning tale after tale of make believe, bringing us pleasurably to another morning alive and ... still dieting. (Sorry, gang!)

Tomorrow is another weigh in, and hopefully you've had a successful week. I accidentally ate a whole bag of mini-Heath bars somewhere between Saturday and Monday morning, but have astonishingly been able to right the ship, so fingers crossed for tomorrow! And speaking of dieting, don't bother to buy your regular copy of National Enquirer this week -- I've already got it, and will bring it to drills tomorrow. It's the ALL NEW 50 BEST AND WORST BEACH BODIES edition, with swimsuit wearing hotties and notties. Should re-inspire you to eat a little less!

Meanwhile, the Olympics has inspired me. Hasn't it you?




I think I will take up football. That's an Olympic sport I think. Yes?

No?

Gosh you are SUCH a spoilsport.

Ta ta ...
Until tomorrow,
x e