My Husband Has a Fiance in His Closet

If he gave her anything like this, I want it back.

If he gave her anything like this, I want it back.

The Lord and Master has been a busy, busy man, romantically. Not only does he have two, count ’em, two previous wives, but also a fiance.

After 31 years together, I’ve just learned of her existence. You think you know your mate, then this happens.

She had to have turned up between Wife #1 and Wife #2, because the L&M and I dated during most of his marriage to Wife #2. Got that timeline?

In fact, Wife #2 had been seeing the man she still is with since before her marriage to my beloved. So, she was thrilled when she caught wind of my existence, making her feel less guilty about pulling the plug on their obviously ill-matched relationship. I think of her as the place holder who kept my Romeo warm until I turned up and fell instantly, hopelessly, permanently in love with him. So, I thank her for her services on my behalf.

But this hussy of a fiance I have no use for. Imagine if that marriage had happened and – heaven forbid – lasted. I could have been cheated out of a lifetime of wonderful. All I can say is, that interloper had better stay far away from me and my husband. I’m not sharing.

And if there’s any jewelry involved, please return. No questions asked.

Vintage is always welcome.

Vintage is always welcome.


Wiggles Has a Heart Attack. Wait, No, Just Bad Gas.

A cautionary tale:

Never eat a pile of cake frosting. On a spoon. Like I did.

What happened was, I ate a cupcake. A lovely, frosted cupcake.

Sassy dyes all the vanilla frosting she makes. Custom frosting, who can resist?

Sassy dyes all the vanilla frosting she makes. Custom frosting, who can resist?

See? A real beauty. Home made by Sassafrass herself.

And I loved it. So, so much, that I thought maybe I’d eat another. But, then, there were so few left and I didn’t want to be the PIG that ate too many cupcakes. Solution! Why not eat the itty-bit of leftover frosting? How could that hurt?

How? I’ll tell you how. Never mind that I’m already on twice daily prescription anti-heartburn meds.

Kaiser's finest generic capsules for Pepcid lovers. 2x/day, mind you.

Kaiser’s finest generic capsules for Pepcid lovers. 2x/day, mind you.

I was rolling around on my bed like a Human Pinata wondering whether or not to wake the Lord & Master and tell him to get me to the Emergency Room. I truly suspected I’d finally done it, finally burst the old ticker with my frosting, my cashews, my coffee candies, my KitKat fetish [Freeze them. You’ll be hooked].

To boost the meds, I popped two Phaysyme. Well, generic, I’m not gonna waste good money on name brand. Please, I’m not a reckless idiot. At least not about my drugs.

If I believed in those Imaginary Friends, I'd have been praying around now.

If I believed in those Imaginary Friends everyone visits on Sundays, I’d have been praying around now.

The heaven-sent simethicone broke up the log jam and I began a blessed round of much needed farts. With every spew my tummy deflated. It took a couple of hours, but I finally expelled enough gas to drift off to dreamland. Where absolutely no dancing cupcakes, frosted or not, cavorted.

Take heed, fellow food abusers. Cupcake frosting should only be ingested atop a cupcake. And to all, a good night.

Well, Shut My Mouth

The question is:  Can I?

I know I’m a chatterbox. I even was dumb enough to believe I was a stupendously enjoyable blabbermouth. Funny. Pithy. Educational, even. I thought the Lord & Master and Sassafrass enjoyed my tidbits from Vanity Fair or whatever book I’m reading. I thought my hilarious bon mots were a pleasure for them.

I thought wrong.

Lately, after the umpteenth time Sassy has flailed her arms and said, “Oh my God, her monologue never ends,” my sweetheart of a hubby replied, deadpan, “Welcome to my world.”

For the first time, I heard them. And now I can never un-know what I’ve heard.

Holy crap. I’m the problem. They don’t want to hear what I’m blathering on about. They’re praying I’ll shut the hell up.

Is this why I’ve seen parents from Sassy’s elementary school cross the street when they see me coming? Am I that long-winded bore everyone’s trying to avoid? Am I Daddy? Whom we loved to kid about his ever-ready jokes? For years we had a caricature someone drew of him standing at the bathroom sink, looking into the mirror, asking, “Hey, buddy, did you hear the one about…?”

Like father, like daughter. Two misfits looking for a laugh.

Like father, like daughter. Two misfits looking for a laugh. This is our father’s Boston Latin School senior yearbook entry, just before he set off to Harvard.

I’m not embarrassed. After you’ve shoved an entire human being out of your vagina in front of strangers, albeit ones with medical degrees, you don’t embarrass easily.

I guess, like Barack Obama tweeted after being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, I’m humbled. Just not humbled for quite so wonderful a reason.

So, as I bump up against 60 years on the planet, I must consider an entirely new way of being. A quiet way. It’s gonna be quite the adventure. Unlike my previous embrace of Oscar Wilde’s advice: Be Yourself, Everyone Else is Taken, now I must not be myself. Lest I drive my family stark raving mad.

Stay tuned for updates on how I navigate this fine mess.

P.S.  This place is like a morgue without me talking.

Jesus Gives Carrie Underwood Two Thumbs Down, Too

Probably shielding his eyes from Carrie's bad acting.

Probably shielding his eyes from Carrie’s bad acting.

Carrie Underwood responded to scathing reviews and internet buzzkill with a tweet:  “Mean people need Jesus.”

Sweetie, Jesus isn’t blind or deaf. He agrees with the rest of us – you can’t act. The truth is the truth. “Mean” has nothing to do with it.

Shoot, girl, you should be able to get a good, teary country song out of the whole deal.

We’re Baaaaack

So. Where was I?

Blogging fell apart as life starting going biblically wrong. Disappointing our dozens of readers, for which we apologize. But good news, fans and foes, Roberta and I have decided it’s time to resume our scribbles.

Amid all the tragedies, life has continued on its usual cray-cray way.  Another typical day in the life of Wiggles:

Guess who’s accompanying her hard-of-hearing hubby to a computer repair store run by a heavily accented, pidgin English speaking Taiwanese man? You know what the vows say, “for better or for worse.”

Not to mention the Lord & Master’s next stop at the DMV, where he’s going to take both the vision and written driving tests. (For a professor, he’s got a surprisingly intense case of test taking anxiety.) And then he’ll have his mug memorialized onto the new license with a honking huge upper lip cold sore the size of Montana.

When the new license arrived, the L&M groaned that he looked like a Russian mobster. He did. An angry one. “I thought I had a pleasant expression,” he protested. Well, now he knows his version of pleasant looks more like “one step closer and I’ll blow your brains out.”

I have landed smack dab in the middle of a goddam Tennessee Williams play. Clearly, a lesser known gem. Perhaps you’ve heard of it: A Crumbling House to Match Our Crumbling Lives? We’ve got our very own Big Daddy and the requisite forlorn heroine – yes, dear Sassafrass has returned to the nest – lolling the day away in her cluttered quarters. But I, Wiggles, am a reformed JAP from the east coast, now mellowing out in SF. How did I wander into this production?

Among other reversals, I am reduced to taking care of my hair myself.

Among other reversals, I am reduced to taking care of my hair myself.

Our father, who art in the Actors Home in Englewood, New Jersey, used to quote his beloved Abraham Lincoln: “I laugh because I dare not cry.” Daddy, I concur.

Wiggles Surprises Everyone By Being All Substance, No Flash

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!