Home again, home again -- for three whopping days. I'm doing laundry. Lots and lots of laundry. And trying to convince Wendell that I really do love him, even though I keep leaving for weeks at a time.

Lots to report. The People piece is out -- in the brand-new issue with SEXY AT ANY SIZE on the cover (yahoo!). And the review is just wonderful, and the picture is just huge and, as I predicted, Wendell (identified in the caption as my "pal" -- and boy is he pissed about that) looks adorable and fetching, and I look a little tired and somewhat dubious about the whole enterprise. But no complaints. It's a wonderful, beautifully written review that I think really captures the heart of what IN HER SHOES is all about. (Here's another really sharp review -- hooray for Buffalo!)

My mother unveiled a slim and elegant gold-plated pillbox at breakfast after my New York City book party. "That's really beautiful," I said. My Nanna sniffed. "I got it for her," she announced, "after I read your email about the tinfoil."

"Busted!" I said to my mother.

"Jenny, cut that out!" she said to me.

Then it was off to Boston, where I had two really great readings -- one in Cambridge, one in Framingham. Then Chicago, where Amy Lester, who writes a very cool online journal, and Leslie Stella, who wrote the very funny FAT BALD JEFF, came to my Winnetka reading. And Cincinnati, where I sort of lost it.

What do I hate most in the world? Prejudice and unkind people, plus the fact that CBS is running The Amazing Race at the exact same time as ABC is airing The Bachelor. But the thing I hate most at readings -- or during interviews -- is when the person doing the interviewing or the introducing doesn't take the time to figure out that My Stupid Last Name is Not Pronounced Exactly the Way it is Spelled. It's especially irksome since the name is spelled out phonetically, in nice big letters, on all of the press materials that interviewers and bookstores get way ahead of time -- or when I've introduced myself as Jennifer Wyner.

It's not a big deal in my normal life, and I've certainly been called worse things that Jennifer Weener, but when you've been on the road for close to two weeks, when you're exhausted and disoriented and feeling like you can't even get the bookstore personnel to pay attention to you long enough to show you where the reading's supposed to be, the words "Please join us in welcoming Jennifer Weener" are not exactly going to bring joy to your heart.

"It's Wyner," I growled at the hapless book lady.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she gasped.

I felt badly about it later -- in fact, I felt badly about it about five minutes after the reading started -- but at the time I just felt like laying my head down on the reading table and banging it softly for a few minutes.

So that's what's up, and now I'm off to catch up on a week and a half's missed viewing. We got Sopranos, we got Amazing Race, we got the Victoria's Secret video I'm writing about for TV Guide.

And laundry. Lots and lots of laundry.