I'm Lynette. You're Susan.

Anyone who has been to my home knows that I'm not neat and tidy enough to be Bree Van De Kamp Hodge.

Since one of my thighs takes up more space than Eva Longoria, I'm not Gabrielle.

I've slept with so many men that a bedding company chose to name a brand of sheets after me - - WAMSLUTTA! - - but still, I am not trampy enough to be Edie.

And believe it or not, as soon my mother, my father and I saw Teri Hatcher's character fall, trip, break, burn down and essentially "Jack Tripper" her way through one episode of DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES, we each had the same reaction...

Susan Mayer = My Brother Jeff

Jeff brags about how "Susan Mayer" he is in everyday life. Case in point...

Jeff is a social worker and one day, he was driving one of his clients, a mentally challenged little boy, to an appointment. After the appointment, Jeff made sure the child was secured into his seat and closed the passenger door - - on his hand.

As if that's not painful enough, the door was locked. So, his hand is now jammed between the car door and the door frame.

And in the process of securing the child in his seat, Jeff had dropped his car keys INSIDE the car.

So, in extreme pain, Jeff had to calmly talk to the child through the closed car window and convince him to undo his seat restraint, unlock the lock and then OPEN THE DOOR!

(Just for the record, my hand would still be jammed into the car door if I had to do this. Going on...)

The best part is that when he called me to tell what had happened to him, Jeff began the phone call doing his best Mary Alice impersonation. He said...

"Jeff Rader was always getting into trouble..."

So, I'm not Susan, either. Jeff is Susan. Hands down.

I've always known I'm a Lynette, but damn it, did the friggin' ABC "WHICH DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE ARE YOU?" Quiz have to supply me with irrefutable proof!!!


Yeah, I'm totally Lynette. I wouldn't have worn the damn orange, pizza place shirt either.