My friend handed me the book with an apology.

"My mom sent it to me," she said. "I don't know what she was thinking. Maybe you'll get a laugh out of it. Then please, just throw it out. Or do whatever you want."

What was her mom thinking indeed. It was one of these 3-inch-by-3-inch impulse booklets you stare at while waiting in line at Borders. The title, "What Every Woman Should Do Once," roller-coasted across the cover in playful cursive letters. A blonde cartoon woman in a red sequined dress and red heels perched on a love seat, a cat at her side, manicured nails holding a paper so long it curled to the floor. Her lips were pursed in a knowing grin.

I set the book aside, and didn't pick it up for three days. It sat on my kitchen counter, an incredible annoyance to a neat freak. I couldn't throw it out; it was, after all, a gift. Finally, I opened the thing and read it through. Once. It took about 90 seconds.

On each stiff page were no more than a dozen words, accented by drawings in the same cartoony style as the cover. A pair of pink-tinted sunglasses, a lime-green purse, black stiletto heels, an orange perfume bottle. All of them annoyed me; one disturbed me: a purple lipstick tube, its red contents cranked to maximum height.

"Smoke a cigar," the book urged. Done that, I thought. Swisher Sweets in college surely counted as cigars. "Make snow angels." I snorted. "Invent an interesting past." Why tweak with perfection? "Tell a man you love him first." I paused here, this was considered unusual?

I had done 10 out of 52. Not a bad percentage really, particularly when taken from such a stupid book.

I put the booklet aside. Two hours later, I picked it up again. Flipped a couple more pages. Tossed it into the garbage can. Snatched it out 20 minutes later.

"Kiss a guy from ever state." "Dye your hair blonde and see if they really do have more fun." "Head to the airport and fly - anywhere." "Have a three-martini lunch and go back to work refreshed."

It was ridiculous. Of course.

I looked at my "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" calendar and saw that it was mid-December, the end of a very twisted year. I needed a straight shot of something new, an infusion of fun, a sidestep from a largely looming mid-life crisis.

Perhaps I needed to do a few more of the things every woman should do once. I brushed the coffee grounds off the little book and looked at it with growing affection. This, I decided, was my ridiculously perky pocket guide to 2006.