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 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!

Yes, Vows were Renewed

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.

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

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

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

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.