What Lies Beneath

Most first dates are typical. Once you meet a new man and agree to a date it usually comes down to going out to dinner somewhere with him. I had no problem with this ritual because not only do you enjoy a nice meal, you also have the opportunity to get to know each other through conversation. If the relationship doesn’t work out, you still get a nice meal. You win either way.

Some men will surprise you though and really put forth an effort to think of something fun and different for the first date experience. My female friends agree these creative and considerate men are normally the ones who will get a second date if in fact there is a connection. It’s pretty simple. As women, we can’t wait to see what idea they’ll come up with for the next time.

I recall a first date I had that was a bit out of the norm. He asked me if I would be interested in spending the day waterskiing. As a lover of all water sports I quickly accepted and showed up on a Saturday excited to spend the day on the river with him and a few friends of his.

The day was beautiful and the water calm as I zipped down the river. I’m fairly certain I impressed him with my ability to slalom without falling for a long period of time. It was now his turn. As his friend took over driving the boat, my date proceeded to ready himself to jump in the water. As he pulled off his t-shirt I couldn’t help but notice the three rather large round scars on his belly so I inquired. His response:

“During a heated argument with my ex-girlfriend, she shot me. I was being an asshole and I deserved it”.


Just Lovely…

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

I grew up during a time when dancing was considered the thing to do. Each night of the week there was a different nightclub to go to, with each place having some kind of event. For example, I recall Tuesday night being Tequila night for .50 cent a shot. Wednesday was line dancing to country music and Thursday was disco night at a place where the floors would light up. I loved it.

With each place I partied, I had a different set of friends to party with and each group was different than the next. I met so many people and learned many new dance moves. It was exhausting for certain, as staying up late; dancing and drinking would cause me to have hangovers at work the next day. It was worth it.

I do remember a man, Ken, from one of the nightclubs who was a part-time dance instructor. He was the best dancer in the city and it didn’t matter what style of dancing, he could do it all. In his leather dancing shoes he was very smooth on his feet. He was an attractive, well-dressed Italian man, tall and lean. He reminded me of John Travolta in the movie "Saturday Night Fever", especially his beautiful jet black hair. I was interested.

As we got to know each other at the nightclub, he invited me to stop by the dance studio and take a couple of lessons with his class. I decided to take him up on his offer as I thought this would be an opportunity to get to know him better, especially outside of a nightclub. On a Wednesday evening I showed up and approached the door. I could hear the music blasting throughout the studio so I walked on in. There in the middle of the studio dance floor was Ken dancing alone in front of a wall of mirrors. Startled, he turned to me said, “What are you doing here? I thought I had locked the door. The class isn’t until tomorrow night!” I apologized profusely, turned and walked out disappointed.

Ken wasn’t wearing his toupee.


Just Lovely…

Peek-a-boo, I Saw You

The company I work for requires extensive background checks for employment consideration. I remember the day I had to be fingerprinted, drug tested and have my credit report reviewed. It did feel like an invasion of privacy but I learned to understand that these types of check-ups help the hiring company to determine what kind of employee I would be. From these, they will know if I’m trustworthy, if I’m a criminal and whether or not I’m a responsible adult who pays her bills.

This makes me wonder, as women, why can't we be more diligent in investigating the men we date? Partially, it's because we don't have some type of National Boyfriend Database (NBD) we could easily access and thus find out all we need to know about our potential boyfriend. Imagine the time, effort and heartache we would save ourselves.

I recall one of my dearest friends being so excited about the new man in her life. On the surface, it appeared they were made for each other. He was attentive, caring and funny – three qualities she really looked for in boyfriends. For the better part of three months, the two of them were inseparable and getting very close to the “I love you” stage of the relationship. I couldn’t have been happier for her until I had to tell her…

I found his photo on the Sex Offender Registry


Just Lovely...

Age Is Just a Number, or Is it?

I recently read that a whopping 34 percent of women over 40 are dating younger men. I’ve also learned that women who fall into this category are referred to as “cougars”. Most women I know have at one time or another dated younger men, and I do have girlfriends who are married to younger guys. I think the success of these types of age differences really depends on the compatibility of the couple. I believe there still has to be some commonalities for long-term successful relationships such as similar or same hobbies or other things. Personally, I never had much luck with younger men and have only dated a handful. In my experience the thing that caused problems with the age difference was maturity – or lack of it on their part.

I found myself smitten with one “cub” in particular for about two weeks one summer. I’ll call him “Tom” because he was a dead ringer for Tom Cruise. I am not the only person who thought he was a look-alike and over the course of two weeks, I can recall at least 5 or so people saying the same thing. I remember one young woman even asking him for his autograph, as she was sure he was the real Tom Cruise. To my horror and embarrassment, he actually gave her an autograph.

In an effort to impress me, he made reservations at a somewhat expensive restaurant in town. I must admit I was uncomfortable as I did feel the eyes of judgment on me during our entire meal. I found myself thinking, “Look at these people, staring at us. I’m sure they are thinking Oh how nice, Mom is taking her son out to dinner”.

When we finished our meal, the check came and he proceeded to stand up, reach deep into the front pocket of his trousers to locate his money. At the table, in front of everyone he counted out $87.00 in cash. Four tens, Three fives;

And Thirty Two one-dollar bills.


Just Lovely…

In Thirty Minutes Or Less

Women tend to have a close girlfriend or two that know pretty much everything about them. These kinds of relationships are priceless and I am blessed to have such women in my life. With these friends I share my most private, secret thoughts and I know there will be no judging. These are the ladies in my life who have seen me do the “ugly cry”. With these friends I’m not afraid to tell them my true and actual weight. They know me and they know my soul.

One would think who better to rely on to fix me up with a blind date. Surely, because of this intimate relationship, these girls know my likes or should I say “my requirements” of good dating qualities in men.

I took a chance, once, to allow a girlfriend, my former roommate to set me up with a man she thought would be perfect for me. Apparently, she knew him through her job in the Air Force. Naturally, I asked a million questions – is he handsome? What is his rank? Is he funny? She answered me with – “very attractive, training to be a pilot, with a sense of humor like no other”. This affirmed that this is one guy I need to meet.

When Saturday night rolled around I admit I was excited to finally meet “Pilot Man” and my roommate was just as excited to finally introduce us. I knew she would stay up waiting patiently for my return and would want to hear how the evening went. She helped me pick out the right outfit, she gave approval of my makeup and I was ready.

I was putting on my finishing touches when the doorbell rang. My roommate yelled up the stairs to let me know she would answer the door and invite him in. I came down the stairs and turned the corner to find an attractive, well-dressed man standing in the kitchen. Although he arrived late, he apologized, stating that he had just come from working his part-time job. The three of us enjoyed a glass of wine and finally “Pilot Man” suggests it is time to go. He leads me to our front door and I walk out onto the sidewalk. To my utter disbelief and surprise, there sitting in my driveway was his car.

An old, dirty Toyota Camry with a Domino’s Pizza sign attached firmly to the roof.

Just Lovely…

Good Moaning To You

I am a dog lover, at least on most days. Our dog has been with us for nearly ten years and she is very much a part of the family. She is not the nicest dog, at least to strangers and in fact has a barking problem. She will bark and moan at anyone walking down our street in front of our house. On numerous occasions the neighbors have called late in the evening to ask if I could take care of the problem. It seems my dog’s barking has been waking the neighbors daughter at night and I can understand their frustration.

To solve the problem I purchased a bark collar and it is working. This handy gadget is strapped around her neck and if she barks it produces a very slight jolt that stops the noise. With the collar on I haven’t had any complaints from the neighbors.

My 18 yr old daughter isn’t too pleased with the dog having to wear the collar. As much as I’ve discussed with her the need along with the research that doggie isn’t hurt by it, she still secretly takes the collar off from time to time as she did last night.

When I confronted my daughter about leaving the collar on, I again described the need to keep the dog quiet. I explained my embarrassment of having the neighbor call yet again and also reminded her that with the collar on, all of us could sleep better at night with no noise. Her response:

“The dog sounds aren’t the noises waking me up at night, your moaning is. You should consider wearing one of these collars."

Just Lovely…

I Gotta Good Buzz

When you are used to living alone for any period of time and then find yourself either moving in with someone or having them move in with you, there are always dilemmas. For example, you have to decide how you will split up closet space or which bathroom shelves are his and which are yours. It’s tough for both people really, because for the person who has been the “shelf owner” he/she has to relinquish a place most familiar. The person moving in, on the other hand, has to become familiar with all the new surroundings. There is a fair amount of change for both parties.

When my significant other (SO) moved in with me, one of the first dilemmas to work through was figuring out which side of the bed we each would own. This was particularly hard for me as I normally sleep spread eagle across the entire bed. Having to now limit myself to a few feet would take time for me to get accustomed to.

Dresser drawers, however, were much easier to negotiate. He really only needed to have two, one for socks and one for underwear. I could live with combining some of my clothes to accommodate.

The bedside dresser had really been the only pain point because I only had one. On top it held the lamp, my alarm clock, telephone as well as other personal items in the drawers. He in turn had nothing on his side of the bed to keep his necessary items organized. Although I was not able to find a matching dresser for his side of the bed, I did purchase a bedside table that I felt would meet his needs and at the same time match the bedroom furniture. Problem solved, so I thought.

After a few months of quiet frustration, my SO finally mentioned it was time to find a real bedside dresser for him, one with drawers. I found his request hard to believe since I was certain the bedside table was a perfect solution. When I asked him why he needed his own dresser his snarky response was:

“I need a place to store my vibrators too”.

Just Lovely…

The Monster in my sock

I used to have the very bad habit of biting my nails. I don’t think I did it because of nerves; I just didn’t like how they felt at the tips of my fingers. I also hated to have to file and paint them. Within seconds of polishing I would somehow smudge a nail and have to start all over again. It never failed, while taking the polish off the smudged nail I would accidentally smudge yet another freaking nail.

Later in life I’m now able to afford a manicure, a real one at a salon. From time to time I will pamper myself and enjoy an hour or so of having Lucinda, the nail technician at my favorite salon, turn my nails into something beautiful.

At the other end of the spectrum there are my feet, a whole other story. I will not let anyone go near them in a salon and it isn’t because I am ticklish. It’s because of two words. Nail Fungus. This fungus has decided to take up residence in the big toe of my right foot. Even though it’s only one toe, it’s ugly and I will spare you the details of how it looks.

While getting my fingernails painted recently, Lucinda reminded me of a special sale she was having on pedicures. If you are getting a manicure you could also get the pedicure for half price. I have to admit I was tempted but the shame of exposing this wretched digit was more than I could bear. I leaned over closer to Lucinda and very quietly said, “I would love a pedicure but I’m really embarrassed about my big toe. I have some type of fungus”. In her sweet Spanish accent, she said, “No worries Ms. M. we see that all of the time.” So, for the first time in my life I decided to expose my “monster toe” to the public.

Pleasantly there was no reaction from her and I slowly became comfortable with Lucinda cradling Monster Toe while attempting to file it. As luck would have it, Lucinda was called away to work on another customer and in turn she asked a co-worker to come finish filing my toenails. Fortunately for this woman, Lucinda had already completed the necessary chiseling required to get Monster Toe looking somewhat normal.

A few minutes later, Lucinda returned and picked up where her co-worker had left off. As the co-worker got up she pointed to Monster Toe with a look of disgust and said “Lucinda, Su dedo del pie! Eres una mujer muy valiente!”

Lucinda, her toe! You are a very brave woman!

Just Lovely…

Like Father Like Son

I love children, I really do. My daughter is a young adult now so the days of diapers are far from my memory. The temper tantrums still exist from time to time, those I think never really stop no matter how old your child is. I always wanted to have a big family and it wasn’t until later in life this dream did come true. Upon marrying my husband, I became a stepmother to three more young adults.

When you date a man who has children the success of the relationship depends a lot on how you feel about and how well you get along with his kids. If you feel disconnected with his children it’s very likely you’ll feel a disconnect with him. If his kid is an uncontrollable brat, you will probably find out he is too. In the end, it is true; the children of the men we date are reflections of the men we date. Although this is my theory, I will continue to believe you should make your dating decisions based on the behaviors of your dates children. In most cases, you’ll want to run far, far away.

I had the chance to get to know a little better the young son of a man I was dating by baby-sitting him for a little while one afternoon. This I saw as a true opportunity to put my theory to test. It would be through this afternoon experience I would also be able to decide if I would be interested in continuing a relationship with the father.

After a long afternoon it was nearly time for him to leave and honestly I was ready. I learned that day, at my age I just don’t have the energy or patience to chase young ones around like I used to. As he walked out of the door to leave with his father, the little guy turns and runs back to hug me. He looked up to me and said “We have a present to give you” and he reached out his little hand to place a “secret” into mine. I opened my hand, looked up to his father and asked, “What in the world is this”? The son responded, “It’s a stinky poopie, just like my daddy’s. I found it in my butt.”

The romantic gift of a turd.

Just Lovely…

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Several of my women friends are single, whether never married or divorced. Naturally the topic of dating tends to come up during our catch-up conversations. At times, I do feel sad for them when they describe the loneliness of their lives and the difficulty in finding the right mate. Who is the right mate and is he out there? Just who is the man who has everything I want and where can I find him? They always seem to ask me since I was able to find the most wonderful man with whom I was destined to spend the rest of my life. It took me many years I tell them.

So, back to the question who is this man who has everything and where is he?

Years ago a customer walks into our banking branch office and immediately all eyes were on him, all the female eyes that is, including mine. He was a strapping man dressed handsomely in a dark blue business suit. I learned he was an Attorney and was quite pleased to see he had a fair amount of money in his bank accounts. (This kind of access to more personal information is most definitely a perk of being a Teller looking for a boyfriend). Over the course of several visits to our office he and I became friendly and he ultimately asked me out on a date. I looked forward to going out with the “man who has everything”.

I agreed to meet him at his home, where I would leave my car and the two of us would drive to dinner together 45mins away. He tells me to park by the BMW when I arrive. (expensive car – check) He greets me at the door (beautiful home – check) he takes my coat (quite the gentlemen – check), and he offers to make me a cocktail over small talk in the kitchen (manners and conversation – check). I look around to see a wide variety of kitchen tools (he can cook – check). He finally points me in the direction of the den and tells me to have a seat while he returns a quick telephone call (responsiveness – check).

I make my way into the den alone and relax into his recliner and sip my martini. As I gaze around his den I begin noticing some very perplexing items. Next to the television (which happened to be sitting strangely close to the recliner) I see a stack of what appears to be VHS tapes of porno. I also notice the side pockets of the recliner I’m sitting in are full of “girlie magazines” and Hello, the side table where I just sat my empty martini glass has a bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care hand lotion sitting on it. I can’t describe in words right now how uncomfortable I was feeling at that moment.

A few seconds pass, the telephone call is over and Mr. “Man who has it all” walks into the den to find me sitting in his recliner. He looks straight at me and says with a harsh tone “Of all the places to sit in here you’ve chosen to sit there? Please do NOT sit there, that is my personal recliner”! As I frantically raced to my car to leave it hit me - the man who had everything, really did.

Including his very own chicken-choking chair.

Just Lovely…

The Nose Knows

When I’m not feeling well I’m not the most pleasant person to be around. I prefer closing my bedroom door and shutting out the noise of the world. I can be needy and downright whiny when I am under the weather. It was during a time of illness, when my husband learned these things about me and I, in turn, learned just how nurturing he is.

I caught the stomach flu and immediately realized it is by far the most embarrassing illness a person could have. As his new wife, I was in a panic trying to figure out how I could hide from my husband the upcoming various sounds and noxious smells I was sure my body would be emitting. I had to use my most critical thinking skills. I knew very soon I would have to put my plan into action.

Firstly, I would use the toilet in the house that has the most reassuring flush. This flush has to be certain to get rid of all my demons. Secondly, I would turn on the exhaust fan to remove the smell of shame I was confident would waft into the hallway. Thirdly, I would play the radio REALLY loud.

When the moment arrived unannounced I was ready and off I ran up the stairs. Afterwards I walked out of the bathroom assured and somewhat relaxed knowing I had kept my reputation in tact. I limped back to the bed and fell fast asleep.

I was awakened a while later to find my husband standing next to me with a grocery bag and a smile. “I bought some soup for you“ he said, and “I have it heating on the stove. I also picked up a few more things I thought you could use”. He handed me the bag, I thanked him and he left the room.

Theraflu and a can of Glade.

Just Lovely…

From Rags to Riches

If cleanliness is in fact next to godliness, my husband is a saint. Even after working all day cutting grass and shoveling mulch the man never smells stinky. He probably bathes more times in one day than most people I know and I admit, his freshly cleansed body is a turn on.

After a wonderful dinner, with several drinks at a beautiful restaurant, we drive home with both of us feeling a bit frisky. Once there, we relax for a while with a few glasses of wine and yes, feeling friskier.

He quickly showers, I quickly bathe and we make our way to bedroom for “the moment” has finally arrived. As usual, he is attentive and loving and afterwards we both lay there resting for a short while. Moments later he arises, steps into the bathroom and I hear the sink faucet running. I realize “Mr. Clean” is in there tidying up from our “session”.

Upon finishing in the bathroom my dear, caring, husband walks back into the bedroom carrying a warm, soft washcloth and hands it to me. I smile in amazement as to how thoughtful he is as I take the warm refreshing cloth to my face and begin to wipe away the perspiration that had formed. I look at him and say thank you for again thinking of me. He looks at me and says, “I guess I should mention the cloth you are using is my dick rag”

Just Lovely...

Bringing the hammer down

The company I work for is very passionate about giving back to the community and over the years I have volunteered for Habitat for Humanity through our organization on many occasions. If you aren’t familiar with this Habitat, one of the things they do is build homes for families in need. This is accomplished by the use volunteers to do all the work such as framing, installing windows and laying shingles. I’m getting ready do to it again.

Having been an independent woman for so long, I must say I’m a subject matter expert using most power tools. If I have to fix anything around the house I have complete confidence in my ability. I have alone installed toilets, ceiling fans and even cut down trees with a chain saw.

I had the opportunity to help build a house with some other coworkers and on the day I was there, I spent my time putting outlet and light switch covers on along with hanging a number of window blinds. I even hung two ceiling fans.

At the end of the day, the entire team was surprised with a site visit from one of the most Senior Leaders of the company. As one of the top leaders of a company with over 500,000 employees across the world, you can believe it’s not often, if ever, someone like me would have the opportunity to even be in the same city as this man. To be able to shake his hand and introduce myself was I felt, an honor for me.

As he made his way through our small group he finally approached me. I felt my nervousness was showing through my entire body. My mind is racing and I’m telling myself – “Oh my God - do not sound stupid, Oh God - be clear and direct”. With the most professional handshake and confident voice I could muster I told him my name and what I do for the company. He in turn said to me, “I really appreciate you being here today working on this home. What kind of things have you been doing all day?”

Without a thought, without stopping myself, I looked into his eyes in all seriousness and said:

“I have been screwing all day”.

Just Fucking Lovely…

The Doctor is in and out

Most people I know really don’t enjoy going to the dentist. It can be a very distressful experience having someone stretching your mouth open, scraping, flossing and cleaning your teeth. I have never had an issue with going with the exception of in my younger years. My dentist back then was a very old man and I can still to this day recall having to look up his nostrils as he cleaned my teeth. He had extremely long nose hairs and that’s all I remember about him. I hated those hairs.

Here I am years later and the experience is much more pleasant. Plain and simply put – I have a very “hot” dentist. In fact, at home, we refer to him as “Hot Doc”. It’s incredible just how handsome this man is and at the same time so charming and let me add so young. “Hot Doc” also has a very beautiful wife who is also a dentist and they share their practice. I prefer to see “Hot Doc” and my husband prefers to be treated by “Hot Wife Doc”. Needless to say I think both my husband and I look forward to our two visits each year. I swear I feel giddy like I have some dumb little secret crush that occurs twice a year for one hour each time. It’s stupid, I know, but I’m certain I’m not the only woman who has experienced a feeling like this too – a doctor crush. Sigh.

For any kind of doctor appointment I have I always want to make sure I look nice. I’ll make sure I’ve showered, have on makeup and where a decent outfit. For some reason, when going to visit “Hot Doc” I find it necessary to try to look even nicer. I suppose it’s just that I don’t want to think this young handsome dentist is appalled by having to look into the mouth of this 45 yr old woman and be grossed out or maybe, just MAYBE it’s just because of his damn hotness and my stupid super secret doctor crush.

So after my cleaning he hands me my complimentary toothbrush, paste and floss and I thank him and prepare to leave. Before I walk out of the room he hands me a pamphlet and says…

“By the way Mrs. M, when a woman reaches middle age like yourself their teeth will start to turn yellow like yours. I think you are a prime candidate for teeth whitening and you should probably consider it. Here’s some information”.

Excuse me…did I hear him correctly? Did he just say “Middle age and yellow teeth” to ME? Crush gone you young handsome a-hole.

Just Lovely...

Eat and Run

Working my full time job from a home office doesn’t allow me to get out and enjoy lunch with co-workers because there are few who live or work close by. In fact most days I get up and start working in my pajamas and later in the day will change into some casual clothing. My work also keeps me very busy so most days I don’t even leave my office. I decided a few months ago however that I needed to make it a point to have lunch at least one day a week away from home. So since then each Thursday at 11:45am I’ve been meeting my Father and his good friend at one of their favorite restaurants.

On a particular Thursday, I had a conference call that ran a bit over and it was causing me to be late in leaving to meet Dad for lunch. After hanging up the telephone I rushed to the laundry room and reached in the dryer to grab something quick I could throw on. I knew I had a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt that had just finished drying. Standing in the kitchen I quickly change out of my PJs, pull on my jeans and sweatshirt and race out the door. I make it to the restaurant right on time.

The restaurant is packed as usual filled with the normal lunch crowd and I strain to see where Dad is sitting. I find he and his friend sitting way across the dining area so I make my way through the maze of people and tables. I sit down, we order, we eat.

A few minutes into lunch the waitress comes over and hands me the bill. I thought it quite odd that we had just started eating and now I’m being asked for payment. I reach to pick up the check and my Father pulls it from my hands and says, “Lunch is on me today.” To my surprise the waitress pulls the check from my Father’s hand and says, “Actually this is for her” and she hands me the bill. I look down at this piece of paper and read the following:

“I am so sorry to have to tell you this. You have a panty liner stuck on the back of your sweatshirt”.

Just Lovely...

Harry Potter and the case of the secret cabinet.

I would say I’m a fairly organized woman. I have a drawer for my underwear, one for my bras, and then there is the sock drawer. My nail polish even has it’s own organized space coordinated by colors. I’m able to keep it this way because my Husband and I agree to keep our belongings separated. You won’t find his electric razor under my sink and you can believe his nose hair trimmer will never find it’s way into one of “my” drawers in the bathroom. I like it that way and it works for me.

He is, however, far more organized than me. When he first moved in he built shelves in the garage, which would hold organized boxes of his tools, and he labeled each box in black marker. You can easily read the outside of the box and instantly know if it’s the “sandpaper box” or the “paintbrush box” and that’s exactly how he refers to them now. I really find it amusing that each organized space of his has it’s own name – it’s own identity. There is the “pool supply shelf” or the “garden tool cabinet”. He calls every space, cabinet, drawer; closet a name identified by it’s content.

Recently I needed a pair of scissors and couldn't find any so I asked if he knew where any were.

His response, “look in my comb drawer, the one right above your vagina cabinet”.

I now have a “Vagina Cabinet”. Just lovely.

A bird in the hand.

There is a secret to maintaining a happy long lasting relationship and I’ve searched for many years to find out what it is. I’ve conducted my own research by asking couples I know who have been successful in this area and I’ve heard a variety of answers. “Communication is the key” or “having similar interest is necessary” are a couple of tips I’ve been told. However, there is one common theme that always comes up among these couples and it’s about S.E.X.

The advice around this topic varies but overall, I’m told, it should be fun, adventurous (whatever that means) loving, romantic and at times spontaneous. Now, let me be clear – my husband and I have no issues in this area. I’m simply a believer in continuous learning and self-development as is my husband. With that in mind, I suggested he and I visit a local store that specializes in, well, I’ll say it, toys. So, we go.

As we walked into the “Love Shack” I had mixed feelings, somewhat embarrassed and somewhat interested. Various lingerie and outfits are displayed on the walls, videos are abundant and an entire section is devoted to BOBs (Battery Operated Boyfriends – if you get my drift). I don’t know why, I found it strange to stand beside my husband and peruse the aisles so I suggested making this adventure fun. We would shop separately with each of us picking out items that we felt the other would enjoy or appreciate trying. We would also pay for our items separately in an effort to surprise each other later. So off I go.

I don’t know about most women but I have to say there are some sexual toys out there I didn’t know existed. Some looked quite painful and others made me laugh. I mean really, how would your husband react if in the middle of “it” you pulled out a rubber chicken, (which by the way comes complete with it’s own lube, batteries and OMG it “clucks” too) and said, “hey baby, look what I have for you”. No offense to those of you who by chance have this device.

Once our shopping adventure is over we leave with our hidden secret surprises in separate bags to be “revealed” at a later time to each other. I have to say I was intrigued and nervous at the same time.

Fast forward to the big “reveal”…

OMG. Let’s just say my husband is a F.R.E.A.K. I learned a lot about this man as he pulled his items out of the bag and in fact with all he purchased I think we can open our own “Love Shack” store now. There were items I recognized but many others I did not. Some toys were questionable and others were just gag type purchases like the tiny GI Joe plastic doll that drops his fatigues when you turn a knob on his back. I ask him what exactly were we going to do with GI Joe and he tells me, "Nothing, I just thought it was funny". After he finished describing each item in great detail, including reading me instructions (Can you believe it? Instructions!) He says in great anticipation, “Your turn. What did you buy for me”?

I reach into my bag and pull out this beautiful, 20-inch bright red feather used to discover those sensitive spots by gently guiding over ones’ body. Before I can describe its use he looks at me and says…

“You bought a quill pen? What are we going to do with that? Sign the Declaration of Independence?”

Just lovely.

Wax on. Wax off.

I do not like thunderstorms and am in fact, frightened by lightening. The experiences of quick flashes of light that occur when you least expect it makes me jump out of my seat and nearly wet myself each time. We had a terrible storm recently that dropped big, fat raindrops and the sky would light up every minute and it scared me.

After a long very stressful day at work with my nerves already frazzled and a thunderstorm that topped off my stress, I looked forward to a long, hot bath. I knew I had plenty of hot water to fill my jetted tub up to the rim because no one in the house had showered yet. Plenty of hot water. Nice relaxing bath. Quiet peaceful alone time. Ahhhh.

Then IT happened. No electricity in the neighborhood. No lights, no television, no Internet, WAIT, oh shit. NO HOT WATER??? I knew if I hurried I could gather an armful of candles, run up to the tub and fill it before the water heater turned cool. Problem solved and I can enjoy my bath even more with the soft light of the candles.

After doing my normal bathing routine I laid back and let my body slip down into the steamy hot water. I was experiencing a moment of peace for once today. Just what I needed. Ahhhhh. As I reached over to pick up my full glass of wine, my arm brushed against the tallest candle and down it tumbled right smack in between my legs. Without going into all the gory details, let me sum it up this way…

I can now move to Brazil and feel right at home. Just lovely.

The long and short of it.

There are many reasons why my ex-husband is an “X” and after all these years of being divorced I rarely revisit those memories. I am, however, one of the many women in this world who still have to maintain some type of relationship with their X because we still share one thing in common, our daughter.

It’s not often I run into him or even speak to him because our daughter is a young adult now. On those rare occasions we do happen to see each other I’m reminded how much happier I am now and it also confirms for me that even after many years, Ex-husbands do not change. They remain assholes.

Case in point…with a little background.

For me, there are certain private rituals, habits or beliefs I prefer to keep to myself. For example, I can never imagine leaving the bathroom door open while I’m sitting on the toilet “thinking” (Let’s just call it that shall we?). “X” on the other hand had no issue “thinking” in front of me. The same holds true for passing gas. I would not, could not do THAT in the presence of my mate. However…

Over twenty years ago, one time, and only once did I have an “accident” whereby one very small, nearly silent, gas bubble made its debut in front of him. I remember so vividly standing there mortified and embarrassed as I listened to him laugh and carry on about it for what seemed liked days. I was certain the color of my face was at least close to the red of the shorts I was wearing. I looked at him and said, “You’re an asshole”.

Fast forward 20 years…a week ago.

My daughter decided to move back into my home from college. She had arranged with her Father for him to pick up some of her belongings and bring them here. I thought it would also be a great time for me to pick up from him a check for his portion of her car insurance. So I called him one hour in advance of his arrival and reminded him. He agreed he would.

While I was in the backyard pulling weeds from the flowerbed, I could hear his truck door slam so I proceeded to make my way to the driveway. After approaching and greeting him I ask, “did you bring the check”? He looked at me and said, “Damn, I forgot my checkbook”. In frustration as I walked away I said, “How could you forget? I just called you one hour before to remind you, don’t you remember anything”?

His response; “Yes, yes I do. Those red shorts you are wearing now, are those the same fart shorts”?

He can’t remember to bring the check, but he remembers my fart shorts.

What an asshole. Just lovely.

Can I borrow your iron?

I was cursed with having my mother's leg gene - if there even is such a gene. The back of my thighs look like an old dirt road, bumpy, full of crevices and ditches called Cellulite. I have longed my entire life for smooth and sexy legs. Not the dirt road kind, more like an Interstate, slick, smooth and long. I have looked into every fix you can imagine from miracle creams shown late at night on infomercials to liposuction advertised on the side of a building and in the end I've learned there is nothing I can do. Thanks Mom.

There are some tips to mask the problem like a nice tan or support pantyhose or even dim lighting but, under the mask, it's still there. During the winter months when it's cold and frosty outside I believe my brain freezes too. I forget about "Mom's gift" hidden underneath the layers of clothes. For this reason, I love winter.

This story sums it up...

I remember the sunny day I was on a date with a man and his 6 year old son. We had planned a beautiful afternoon riding the waves on a Jet-ski. In my cute bathing suit, hand in hand I walked down the pier with this little boy ensuring his safety on the water.

He looks up to me in front of my date, his father, and in his little boy voice he says, "why are your wegs so winkled?".

Just lovely.

The Panties

Every woman has them hidden way back in the drawer. Those ratty, ugly, stained underwear we all put on when it's "that time". As a newly married woman, there are some things I like to keep a bit private from my husband and my Period Panties are one of those things. I make it a point to do my own laundry and I cleverly hide these panties and pull them out when needed.

It's inevitable for certain that at times I'll be wearing a favorite new pair and just like Houdini, my period will magically appear, without alarm or warning. That is how period panties evolve. These undergarments have now lost their sex appeal and are not for public viewing. All ladies have them, but there is not one of us willing to let our husbands know they exist especially those of us still in the honeymoon phase of marriage. The idea of my man knowing of or seeing me in these tattered "drawers" (and by the way, I believe we call them "drawers" because we hide them way in the back of the dresser) really frightens me. He can't imagine his beautiful bride wearing holey, stained britches.

While folding my husband's laundry the other day, I came across three pair of his Hanes that had certainly seen better days. They had been washed so many times the material felt like a Kleenex. The elastic was showing in various places and holes were abundant. My first thought was why does he need to keep these torn up skivvies with all of the other nice, newer pair I've purchased for him? So I ask him.

His response - "I've seen your 'monthlies' why can't I have any"?

My secret is out, the honeymoon is over. Lovely.

Mustache Hair? Really?

I just recently turned 45 years old and it seems in a split second, when the clock turned 12pm on my birthday the first hairs appeared on my top lip. I'm not talking about those little wispy blond hairs, I'm talking dark, thick beard looking hairs. My first reaction was to grab the tweezers and pluck those mothers out. When I grabbed the first one and snatched it from my lip it felt as though that hair was pulled from the bottom of my feet, around my intestines, through my lungs, up my throat and out through the skin of my upper lip. My eyes started watering, my lip was quivering and a small drop of blood seeped its way through the giant hole left by the unwanted hair. Now what do I do? There is no way I'm going to attempt to yank out the remaining little bastards with tweezers.

So I figure, hmmm I shave my legs, why not grab a razor and ever so gently shave off the little army of hair that has taken cover above my mouth? I wash my face, apply a small amount of my husband's shaving cream, grab a new Shick razor and proceed to erase what age as presented to me as an unwanted birthday present. As I look deep into my mirror, I'm frightened to see the reflection of my husband standing behind me.

He looks at me and says "you shave your face too"?

Just lovely.

I have diagnosed myself with IMS

Irritable Mood Syndrome (IMS) is my personal diagnosis of when I'm having a crappy day. It flairs up daily. How do I get rid of this disease? There is no cure that I know of so I have resigned myself to creating this blog. My personal prescription for my own mental health.

Speaking of prescriptions, I simply want to know why all antibiotics cause yeast infections? How is it I can take one pill to clear up a bladder infection but at the same time the rest of my crotch gets infected? Although these female organs are neighbors they clearly aren't friends. In my own neighborhood we look out for each other. We keep an eye out for each other, we talk, we are friendly and welcoming. That is not the case within my own body. My vaginal organs hate each other. In fact, they are at war.

A bladder infection, a yeast infection and my period. Lovely.