Category Archives: husbands

Wiggles Surprises Everyone By Being All Substance, No Flash

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Dateline: The Foggy Grey Splendor of San Francisco

Our security system consists of being the most run down house on the block.

Hot Pants clued our dozens of followers into the yummy Katz’s Delicatessen details and even managed to slip in a snapshot of myself and The Lord & Master (shhh – don’t ever let him know his actual face has appeared on this site!).

So what have I, Wiggles, to say about the renewing of our vows? On the serious side, renewing vows was way more fun than taking them as a 32 year old basket case with the emotional sophistication of Gidget. The L&M and I dressed down, skipped the rings, and just stood together before our family and friends and told the truth. And when the truth is as beautiful as our lives, that’s powerful stuff. I have done countless stupid things in my life. But when it mattered most, I fell in love with a man so indescribably wonderful that every other aspect of my life has been bettered by our relationship. I know this is rare, and I cherish him and our life together.

Of course, I wouldn’t be Wiggles without loads of dumb moves. How is it that I didn’t learn from Sassafrass’s high school graduation that I should not appear in public wearing ivory pants? Even when they fit properly, such bulk and bumps do not look good in light colors. Apparently, I am incapable of seeing myself in a mirror. It’s all a blur, topped with makeup and jewelry. Most unsettling.

Fat & Happy. I cannot complain. But I do apologize if this burns your eyes.

Also, I must confess that my industrial strength two week old blow-out was quite the worse for wear having slogged through the worst of the Jersey summer heat and humidity. Even more startling, I managed to eke another week out of said ‘do until I finally plopped into the magical hands of Hamideh, my Hair Goddess. I maintain it’s her hair; it just happens to be on my head.

Multigenerational gorgeousness.

Allow me to close with just a heartfelt thank you to all the people who made it such a great day: Andy & Susan for letting us trash their home, Roberta for shlepping the food from NYC, Jeanne for wearing one of her snazzy new dresses and playing the piano for everyone, Tucker for being Tucker and looking more fabulous than ever while doing so, Leigh Ann and Josie and Matt for wasting their Saturday by being with us, Peter and Sue for trekking in from Chicago amid enormous challenges, and, most of all, Sassafrass for blessing us by singing “Our Love is Here to Stay,” which celebrated us as a couple and as a family.

My Immortal Beloveds [to steal a phrase from Kelly Ripa]

I promise never to be this serious again, folks!

Yes, Vows were Renewed

Posted on by hot pants

They came, they overate, they drank a concoction called “The Tenafly Teaser.”

Wiggles, the Lord & Master, as well as family and friends converged on our brother Andy’s house in Northern New Jersey to reaffirm their love and snarf up some corned beef.

Yup, that’s right. Corned beef – as well as Pastrami and sour pickles and tomatoes – were supplied by the one and only Katz’s of Houston Street. Here’s what the boxes looked like, piled gingerly so as not to bruise the meat – in Andy’s car.

Watch out for the Meat!

Watch out for the Meat!

You know you've made it when your name is on a box from Katz's.

You know you’ve made it when your name is on a box from Katz’s.

True to her word, Wiggles didn’t allow the word G-d to be uttered during the course of her and the L&M loving speeches to each other. They did however, mention the words “psychosis” “frisky” as well as the phrase “Two wrongs made a right” in reference to Sassy.

Here’s how they looked, post-renewal.

Let the Eating Begin!

Let the Eating Begin!

It was a wonderful time, even for a semi-cynic like myself. Everyone worked together to make it a seamlesly enjoyable get together. You know who was one of the stars of the show? Yes. that’s right – Pancake, who had grudgingly attended the grooming salon at Litter & Leashes the day before. She looked gorgeous. Check it out:

Is that a Face?

Is that a Face?

She let everyone hold her, snuggled up with Jeanne, and didn’t poop inside the house. I don’t want to say she was tired when she got home, but she slept till 9:40 this morning, which I regarded as a personal best.

There is video percolating around of some of the juicier moments – so I am looking to some others (who know who they are) to email it so it can be posted.

And of course, Wiggles will be adding her own account of the day’s events. Can’t wait to see what her top moments are.

Most Women Would Slim Down For Their Vow Renewal. I Clearly Am Not Most Women.

Posted on by wiggles

This was my short lived dream. Dressed, of course.

The Lord & Master and I are renewing our connubial vows before our Nearest & Dearest as our 25th anniversary approaches. As Bob says to Jeanne on theirs, “Another year of goddam wedded bliss.”

Why, you ask? Because we are grateful to be lucky in love; because we still enjoy spending (almost) all our time together, because – let’s face it – no one else would have us.

Unfortunately, we’re enjoying ourselves so, ahem, fully in the run-up to this “picnic with ‘mush’” as the L&M refers to it, I’ve backed off the traditional ‘lose weight/look great’ idea, and sunk into the more forgiving, indulgent ‘be happy/look’ crappy mindset.

So I’m gonna resemble this luscious lady instead.

Of course, after two weeks of Big Jersey high life, by the Big Day, I’ll be a Big Mess.

Ah, the good old crispy pre-SPF days.

P.S. Memo to Hot Pants:  Battle of the Figurines? It’s ON, Babycakes!

I Gave My Husband His Semi-Annual Mani/Pedi

Posted on by wiggles

Be grateful this picture is not in Smell-A-Vision.

My adorable husband, The Lord & Master, received his long overdue mani/pedi this morning. I’m still reeling from the aroma and the struggle. Neither of us is as limber as we used to be – like the good old days when we had at it in the back seat of his Camaro! Those were the days! – but it’s been months since his nails have met up with a scissors.

I once asked him what he did about tending his digits before he met me, to which he replied, “My nails never grew until I met you.”

I’m beginning to believe him. Or, maybe that’s why the first two wives left.

Amazingly, I only stabbed myself with the scissors once while performing this at-home surgery.

Service with a smile. And a Band-Aid. Where’s that hydrogen peroxide?

Ladies, Do NOT Take Your Dog to Your Manicure Appointment

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What color shall I paint my digits this week? So many choices.

I’m ashamed to admit that the array of nail polishes crowded onto that dish represents the winners I kept after getting rid of at least as many other colors. Am I out of control? Yes, but it’s a pretty cheap thrill, considering I favor Sally Hansen, Revlon, and Essie. Strictly bargain brands for my hands.

Like our mother Jeanne, I spend one day a week indulging in an old-fashioned beauty regimen. First, I bop into Sisters Salon & Spa for my weekly shampoo and blow dry. As I’ve told my stylist, “You know that soft, touchable hair? Don’t give me that. I want a ‘do that even a tornado cannot move.” The Lord & Master is well trained not to attempt running his hands through my hair, lest he get the equivalent of a paper cut.

Spray that hair 'til it's hard, hard, hard.

Stop number two is She-She Nails. When I think back to the old days when I painted my own nails, I shudder. Thank goodness my neighborhood is chockablock with nail salons.

Could you resist that face? Not I.

Now, normally Theo Fannybrice does not accompany me on my Day of Beauty. But this week, the power of his pleading face overcame my good senses and he came along. The hairdressers often have their own little rascal at the shop, plus, they know Theo, so he’s treated like a long-lost canine prince. I do believe he was stuffed with treats for the entire length of our visit.

The nail salon, well, that’s another story. In a vain attempt to keep Mr. Fannybrice occupied, I scooped up one cow’s trachea at the local pet store. This rigid white skeletal monstrosity was easily double the length of my doggie. Still, he seemed enchanted. Unfortunately, cow’s trachea make disturbingly loud sounds when knocked against ceramic tile floors. Wouldn’t you know it, some other patron complained to me that Theo’s noisemaking was ruining the Zen experience of watching her nail paint dry. The gaggle of Vietnamese employees scooted a towel under my boy and his toy. Which worked, as long as he stayed on the towel.

By the time my turn came around, my Zen experience was kaput. I skipped the massage, the lotion – everything but the basics. We beat a fast retreat out of there, with Theo still dragging his beloved trachea along.

I love you, my pet, but Never Again. Beauty may know no pain, but it does know when my dog should keep out.

Va, Va, & Voom.

Crap. Now I’ve Hurt MY Back

Posted on by wiggles

I hope they have this modified straight jacket in my size. I knew I should have strengthened my core when I had the chance.

Hot Pants & I love to do things together, even though we live at opposite ends of the USA. However, I may have taken our closeness too far by throwing out my back in solidarity with HP’s own spinal troubles.

Uncensored yelps of pain have been shooting out of my mouth.

In retrospect, my pride at hauling in all five bags of groceries (and my pocketbook) in one mighty dash from car to house may not have been my smartest move after all. Since that Olympic-quality lifting episode, I’ve been lurching around like Frankenstein and barking out “Ouch”  - along with a roster of handy curses – at every step. Even lying down – quite possibly my favorite position in life – offers treacherous moments in my futile search for a neutral pose.

Adding mental anguish to my physical pain, I’ve learned that as a Shop Girl, my paid sick time expired at the end of the calendar year. Little did I realize that we worker bees must time our getting ill to the latter months when we can get paid for our suffering. Silly me, injuring myself in January.

"May I help you?" never sounded more ridiculous as I gasp for breath and clutch the counter. The customers want to help me instead.

The Lord & Master has been most solicitous, though lurking behind his concern is the fear that it may be eons before I’m physically able to engage in acrobatic sexual hijinks with him. (And given our mutual lack of fitness in general, we’re forced to invent ever more original poses to achieve the desired, ahem, …results.)

My husband wants his wanton wild wifey back.

Even sitting here at my desk hurts like hell. So, Dear Readers, I shall jolt my way back to bed with an ice pack, if you don’t mind.

Allow me to Introduce You to Mrs. George Clooney

Posted on by hot pants

Here she is, Clooney's Bride!

 

So here’s what happened: my friend Claire (above) went through a period where she would begin her mornings with the following affirmation: “Good Morning, Mrs. Clooney.”

He’s fabulous, it made her feel good, and what the hell. It was kind of funny, too.

George himself thinks it’s funny, also.

I know, I know: How the hell does George Clooney know about this? Well, it seems that Claire, entertainment journalist, found herself meeting Stacy Keibler, aka George’s latest inappropriate girlfriend. At the end of the conversation, she told Stacy about her affirmation.

Stacy thought it was great. So great that she told the Man himself. George cracked up. How do we know? Because Stacy sent Claire flowers and a note that said so.

I now think Stacy’s fantastic, though I do feel that Claire would make a better wife for him. I mean, she’s put in the time with the affirmations, don’t you think?

Is a Little Bread Mold Really So Bad?

Posted on by wiggles

It's mostly un-moldy. I think.

I don’t want to imply that my husband, The Lord & Master, can be a wee bit picky about what food I toss into his trough, but his report on Monday’s lunch bag offerings went like this:

Wiggles:   Did ya like your lunch?

L&M:         [gesturing a big thumbs down] No. I did not like that weird bun thing.

Wiggles:    How about the meats and cheese inside? Good?

L&M:         How could I tell? All I could taste was that crummy roll.

Cut to: tonight, making yet another sandwich for the man I worship and adore. I knew the detested brioche roll was out, so I grabbed some whole wheat slices. Unfortunately, just a skootch of mold had developed. Only on the outer edges. I swear. Finding two mainly spared specimens, I picked off any offending greenish developments. He’s not going to notice those raggedy edges, right?

Our nephew Max, back in residence in the Sassafrass Suite, happily accepted my offer for a brioche roll lunch feast.

And he’s promised me that should the L&M develop any peculiar tummy troubles, mum’s the word.

Deny, deny, deny. Who’s to say a bissel mold ever hurt anybody?

Honest, I threw out this funky junk.

My Dog Has Surgery, Part 2

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Little black stitches - they go with everything, right?

I don’t mean to imply that the Lord & Master has no future in the nursing profession – human or canine – but after one day in his care our dog Theo Fannybrice practially had a nervous breakdown. And we’re talking about a dog who’s so macho he refused to get into the carrier post-surgery. Instead, he heroically limped to the car.

The next day I toodled off to buy gold and silver as usual. By day’s end the L&M began peppering me with increasingly frantic phone calls.

“You’d better get here. He’s crying.” Just what I don’t want to hear while I’m waiting on yet another Oriental loaded down with 24K baubles.

“Of course he’s crying. He’s in pain. Don’t worry,” I soothed.

Ha!

Here’s what I found:

That meat's looking mighty rare.

“Honey, where are Theo’s stitches.”

Silence. My bigger half was completely clueless that our pooch had made a craft project out of removing his own stitches. That’d make me cry, too.

But wait, there’s more!

“Are you aware you two are sitting in a pool of his pee?” I gingerly inquired.

Whereupon my normally mild mannered spouse launched into an impromptu performance of his long running hit one-man show, I Hate My Life. At full volume.

I banished him from the room while I stripped off the wet blankets and sheets, dried the fitted sheet with a hair dryer, and reassured the actual patient that everything would be fine.

Here's some of the soggy bedding.

Yes, it’s always been my dream to return home from a full day of dealing with the public and clean up a veritable lake of dog pee.

By the next morning, the vet had stapled Theo’s leg back together.

All in all, he’s been a real trouper. The staples are gone, he’s back with his pack at Fort Funston, and all’s right in his doggy world.

My husband’s busy reading, writing, grading papers, and otherwise sticking to his professorial duties.

Happy 2012!

My Dog Had Surgery Today

Posted on by wiggles

And, boy, is he steaming mad. I’d say “hopping mad,” but it was on the left hind leg and he ain’t hopping nowhere.

"What did I do to deserve this," Theo Fannybrice ponders through post-anasthesia fog.

A few years back, Theo had the same surgery on his right hind knee tendon. When we brought him home from that date with destiny, he bit the watch off my wrist. (A snazzy Joan Rivers number.) Then sat indignant in the back yard looking away from us for six hours. The next day he held his pee in until 5 p.m. He’s one rough and tough terrier.

Tonight, he’s positively mellow by comparison. And I, of course, refrained from wearing a watch while near him. (I’m slow, but I do learn a thing or two along the meandering path of my life.)

I can just imagine him complaining to his canine friends: “You’re not gonna believe it, Spot and Rover. They dropped me off at this torture chamber where some goons in masks knocked me out, cut me open, and stitched me back together. For the second time!  Hurts like a sonofabitch. And now they keep yapping about how much they “love” me. Yeah, right, that’s why they threw me to the wolves who carved me up.”

With any luck, his coat will cover the scar. Oh, the indignity.

Poor Theo. At least veterinary medicine keeps up with major painkillers. He’s loaded up on two meds as I write. Sleep it off, my furious little macho hound. I do love you.