“Well, I’m overwhelmed all the time. My nerves are frayed. I feel like screaming and crying, but instead all I do is eat cookies.”
“Oh that’s normal, that’s just like – you know, life.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
“Now if you said you felt like jumping off the roof of your building then I might be worried, that might put you more in the breakdown category.”
“Great, thanks.”
“What does your therapist say?”
“She’s away at a self-actualization retreat.”
“For how long?”
“A month.”
“Excuse me? That’s fucked up.”
“It did seem a little long.”
“Have you talked with your family doctor?”
“She’s only allowed fifteen minutes per patient, that’s not a lot of time to get into things. But she suggested using a seasonal affective disorder lamp and taking more vitamin D.”
“Right.”
“What if I turn into one of those crazy women who wanders the streets jibber-jabbering?”
“I’m not going to let my best friend live on the streets, you can jibber-jabber at my place. In fact, I just put a new bed in the basement guest room.”
“Okay, well everyone needs a back up plan, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So you think I’m okay? Like I’m not emotionally unraveling?”
“I didn’t say that. I think you are emotionally unraveling.”
“Oh.”
“But I think emotionally unraveling is good. You know like when your necklaces get all jumbled together and stuck in a giant knot? And you have to sit down and slowly untangle each piece from the other? Right now you’re that knot. But as you unravel yourself you will re-discover all the beautiful gemstones that were hiding in the tangled mess. And you will sparkle again. You will sparkle like a motherfucker.”
Tossing laundry into the washing machine, Tessa paused, looking at a ratty old pair of plaid boxer shorts.
“These are gross. How is Jordan even still wearing them? What is wrong with him?”
Irritated, Tessa continued loading the machine. Her own underwear was pretty: black cotton with black lace trim. And of course she had some sexier ones too. The point was that she put effort into keeping herself lovely – for herself and for her husband.
“These are literally ten years old. I’m not going to have sex with him until he buys new underwear.”
A few pairs were even ripped –
RIPPED!
She angrily balled them up and tossed them in the garbage. A moment of guilt swished over her:
The underwear would end up in a landfill, polluting the planet.
She considered cutting them into rags. It was the right thing to do, but Tessa wasn’t that committed to the planet. Plus, they had a cleaning lady – Veronica – and Veronica was very particular about her supplies, so much so that she brought her own with her. Veronica would never use underwear rags, it was beneath her.
Later, as Jordan and her sat on opposite sides of the couch with their laptops, Tessa burst out:
“Do you still love me?”
“What? Of course I still love you. Why are you asking?”
“Because you never buy new underwear.”
“What does that have to do with me loving you?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yes everything. You no longer make an effort. You don’t romance me. You don’t surprise me with little treats. You never wear the nice clothing I buy you. You never change up our routine to keep things interesting. Your nasty old boxers are symbolic.”
Jordan tilted his head:
“I bought you a gift a few days ago – that pink Christmas poinsettia.”
“Doesn’t count. You were at the grocery store picking up beer, plus it was wilted and 75% off.”
“Now you’re just sounding immature and petty. But if my underwear is so triggering I’ll buy new ones.”
Tessa started quietly weeping, as if she was at a movie theatre and didn’t want to disturb anyone.
“Why are you crying? Are you menopausing? Is that what’s really going on here?”
Tessa’s nostrils flared:
“FYI – menopausing is not a word. Also, that’s insulting, it invalidates my tears. I’m crying because I feel emotional about the state of our relationship.”
“It just seems like you would not be crying if you had seen nice underwear when you were doing laundry. And that’s nuts.”
“What’s nuts is that you’re on auto-pilot. Ever since we got married it’s like you stopped trying. You’re in this relationship passively, not actively, and that makes me feel like shit.”
“I thought one of the cool things about getting married was that you could just chill with your person, you didn’t have to be “on” all the time.”
“You don’t have to be “on,” but you do have to participate in creating a life together. You do need to give our relationship some of your energy. You have a beautiful spirit – that’s why I fell in love with you – but some of that spirit needs to be directly funnelled into ‘us.’”
“Okay, okay, I get it. At least I think I get it and I’m sorry. I’m on Nordstrom.com right now ordering boxers.”
“Thank you. And since you’re already shopping – I like the new Marc Jacobs purse, it’s called the Mini Bag. In lilac, not black.”
“Okay, gimme a second. Wait, you want this purse? It’s like crazy-tiny.”
“I know. That’s what makes it so chic.”
“I will never fully understand you.”
“And you don’t need to. You just need to love me.”
“You still have your fall wreath up and old pumpkins and gourds. It’s December.”
“There’s nothing in our condo rules book that says we have to do any kind of decor. If I wanted to, and maybe I do, I could put out my pink flamingos.”
“Very funny. The condo board just wants a cohesive look for our development, is that too much to ask?”
“Umm, ya, actually it is too much to ask.”
“All you have to do is look around at the other houses, do you see any fall or Thanksgiving decorations? No you don’t. You see Christmas and Hanukkah and lots of sparkle and lights. That’s what’s appropriate for December.”
“We’re not Stepford Wives and this is not Connecticut; I’ll put up whatever kind of decor I want. By the way, in case you haven’t noticed, the world is going up in flames. I’m pretty sure no one cares about my outdoor decor.”
“Actually, people do care. We’ve had two complaints about you in the last year.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The condo board received two anonymous notes about your slovenliness.”
Victoria started laughing.
“Oh my God, that’s hysterical. What were people upset about?”
“You didn’t throw out your fall plants. You left them to rot in the front yard bushes.”
“I do that so they’ll decompose, it’s good for the soil.”
“It looks unseemly. That’s what yard waste bags are for.”
“And what was my second infraction officer?”
“The second complaint was about your dandelions. Your yard was covered with them this spring, it looked like some derelict home from the wrong side of town.”
“They’re good for the environment, haven’t you read about the honeybees?”
“A few dandelions is all you need to help the honeybees, not a yard full.”
“Dandelions are very chic. Architectural Digest even did a feature on them.”
“Victoria, I don’t want to argue about dandelions. I just want you to put up your damn holiday decor.”
“Well, since Trump is not President yet, I’m going to take advantage of the few freedoms we still have. I’ll decorate for the holidays when I’m in the mood. When I’m feeling festive. Goodbye Colleen.”
“Hi mom. Sorry I’m late, the freeway was nuts. Eric stayed in the city to catch up on some work.”
“So he’s not with you? Oh Dear.”
“What a lovely welcome.”
“Oh don’t be silly, I’m happy to see you. It’s just that I had a list for Eric, a few things we needed help with.”
“You know Eric is not a handyman right? He’s a Chief Operating Officer – whatever that is. The point is he went to Harvard business school and everytime he comes here you’ve got him up on a ladder or hanging a painting. It’s not fair. Plus, you guys can afford to hire a handyman.”
“Well, first of all daughter of mine, I don’t like your tone of voice one bit. Second of all, there are no handymen left, they are a dying breed. There is literally no one in this God forsaken town to help your poor father and I. We need Eric.”
“I’m pretty sure I can find you help, there’s an app for everything.”
“You know how I feel about apps. I don’t trust them. You could be hiring a murderer for all you know. One minute he’s changing a chandelier lightbulb, the next minute we’re bleeding out on the Persian carpet.”
“Tad dramatic. I need a glass of wine.”
“We opened a nice Pinot, it’s on the buffet. I’m going to find your father, he’ll be very upset about Eric.”
For The Love Of God
“What’s this about Eric not being here?” Her father bellowed as he walked towards her.
“Hi Dad, nice to see you too. Eric is busy with work this weekend. He’s a Chief Operating Officer you know.”
“Chief Operating Officer is a ridiculous title. I can’t believe he doesn’t have time for us.”
Jules sighed and took a sip of wine.
“I’m sure I can help you with a few of the tasks, but not tonight I’m too tired.”
“You’re too short to be of any use to us.”
“Mom, what the hell? That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“I’m not insulting you, it’s just that Eric is tall, we need tall. And strong. Tall and strong. You are neither of those things, it’s a simple fact.”
Jules sighed again.
“Anyways, love you. I’m going to bed early, see you in the morning.”
“I’m just going to write Eric a little email, to say hi.”
“Mom don’t. That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because Eric and I are taking a break.”
“What?! You broke up with the man who helps keep this household running? How could you do that to us?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your generation is ridiculous. If I had taken a break from your father every time he drove me nuts, it would have been weekly. Don’t be stupid, don’t let him go. He’s a good man and he knows how to fix almost anything. Jesus H. Christ.”
Her mom poured a 1/4 glass of wine, then tossed it back like a tequila shot.
“Here I’m thinking maybe you two will get married one day, maybe even give me a grandchild, but instead you’re loafing around taking a break. Taking a break from a Chief Operating Officer who also happens to be an excellent handyman.”
“The thing is Mom, it’s not that Eric is driving me nuts. It’s that he doesn’t want to get married and he doesn’t want kids. The other night he told me he wants to be my life partner and he thinks we should get a cat. But that’s all he can handle.”
“Life partner and a cat? Is he kidding? And by the way Missy, how the hell did you get two years into a relationship not knowing that he was against marriage and children?”
“We really only talked about that stuff very early on. At the time he said he just wanted to focus on his career. It seemed like a typical “guy” thing to say and I figured he would change his mind; I was wrong.”
“You were delinquent in your vetting process.”
“Well maybe I was. Regardless, we’re taking a break so that I can figure out what I want.”
“He’s a business man, he’s used to negotiating. You go back to the bargaining table.”
“You’re kidding right?”
“I’m not. You counter offer with a city courthouse wedding and a small cocktail reception, no big hullabaloo.”
“You mean like Carrie and Big in the first Sex and The City movie?”
“Exactly.”
“Also, Eric will pay for freezing your eggs so that you have future options.”
“Keeping my eggs in a storage facility is kind of creepy.”
“Nonsense, it’s 2024, this is how things are done.”
“True.”
“But regarding the cat: that’s a hard no. You will adopt a dog.”
“I don’t know mom. I mean I really appreciate you thinking outside the box with this advice, but,”
“But Eric is also a big fucking asshole. He doesn’t deserve Jules. I mean he offered her partnership and a cat. Who does he think he is?”
“Thank you dad, my thoughts exactly.”
“But you two love each other. You belong together. Plus,”
“Plus what?”
“Plus Eric is an excellent handyman and we need him.”
“STOP. Enough with the handyman!”
“What’s that noise?” Jules’ mother asked suddenly.
Her father grabbed the golf club he kept in the living room to scare off would be intruders.
“Call 911! This neighborhood is going to hell in a hand basket!” Her mother shrieked.
The door knob jiggled furiously.
Jules’ father raised the golf club high up over his head.
“God, this keyhole needs oiling. I’ll do it in the morning,” Eric grumbled to himself as he walked in the front door, throwing his bag on the floor.
“Eric, I almost smashed your brains out with this club!” Her father yelled, his face covered with anxiety sweat.
“Jules told us you two were on a break and that you only wanted a partnership and a cat.” Her mother said giving him a dirty look.
“Jesus Fred, put down the club. Everyone just calm the hell down. I thought you would all be in bed.”
“Cancel 911!”
“I never called them.”
“You never called 911? We almost died at the hands of an intruder!”
“I figured it was Eric. I mean, who else has a key?”
“Everyone just take a breath,” said Eric, reaching out for Jules’ hand:
“Babe I’m an asshole, a big fucking asshole.”
“That’s what I said,” her father clucked.
“I mean a partnership and a cat? Who says that? I was out of my mind the other night, really upset over a botched deal at work. And kind of overwhelmed by all the wedding invites and baby announcements in my inbox. I freaked out. I’m sorry. I don’t even like cats. Please forgive me.”
Jules’ mother pushed her towards him.
“Well, thanks for explaining things. But maybe we should talk in the morning, this night has been a lot.”
“Jules, pour Eric a glass of wine. Eric – are you hungry? Did you eat dinner?”
“I’m fine Agnes. But I will take a glass of wine, thank you.”
“Okay. Well your father and I are going to bed. Eric, we are happy and relieved that you are here. I made your favorite snickerdoodle cookies, there’s a plate for you downstairs next to your bed.”
“Amazing. There’s no problem that a snickerdoodle can’t fix,” he said winking at her.
Patting Eric’s back, Jules’ father leaned in close to him:
“Get your shit together kid, I mean it. I’m watching you,” he whispered.
“I hear you Fred, don’t worry. I love your daughter. And I’ll oil the door lock tomorrow, I promise.”
“This has been the longest April in the history of Aprils.”
“I know right? April feels even longer than March and March felt soooo long.”
“But not as long as February. Remember February? We were both losing our minds so we booked that spa day and my facial made me break out and your massage hurt your neck.”
“HA!”
“Do you think it’s a bad sign that months go so slowly for us? Shouldn’t they be going really quickly? Like if we had lives we actually liked, wouldn’t the months be flying by?”
“We like our lives don’t we? I mean maybe we don’t love our lives, but who does?”
“Lots of people love their lives. Like the women shopping at Whole Foods who buy fresh not farmed salmon and eggs from the happy hens. Their skin glows. They for sure love their lives.”
“I totally disagree. Those women also think that this April has been the longest April in the history of Aprils, it’s just that they have better coping strategies.”
“Like?”
“Like instead of drinking Trader Joe wine and watching old episodes of Sex and the City, they’re having affairs with their pool guys.”
“I have never seen a hot pool guy. Why does everyone always talk about pool guys like they’re desirable? Also, they scrape yucky stuff from the top of the pool, why would you want to have sex with a guy who was covered in pool gunk?”
“Solid point.”
“Plus, Trader Joe’s boxed Pinot Grigio is actually pretty good.”
“Another solid point.”
“I think there is too much pressure to be happy all the time, it’s not natural. That doesn’t mean we don’t experience moments of joy, or pleasure, or silliness, but the pressure to ‘be happy’ all the time is just another way capitalism traps us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, if we feel bad about not being ‘happy all the time’ then companies can sell us stupid shit – like adaptogen-infused wellness mood-boosting drinks based on the signs of the zodiac.”
“Actually, that’s a brilliant marketing idea. Like GOOP-brilliant. We could retire early on that idea – and hire our own cute pool guys.”
Don’t worry about the floral arrangements at your wedding, no one will remember them. They’ll either be too drunk or too bored and busy scrolling on their phones.
No one cares if you have spider veins on your legs and if they do care they’re a total freak and you should run away from them immediately.
Red flags are red flags. They are not pink flags, they are not orange flags; they are a warning. If you choose to believe they are aubergine and not red, well, that’s on you.
Just because you regularly buy yourself flowers doesn’t mean that your partner shouldn’t occasionally buy you flowers too. They don’t get a free pass.
Having pets is great. Cats and dogs are lovely creatures, but they are not children. Mother’s Day is for mothers of humans, you know, those messy little people who throw their dinner against the wall and have tantrums in the middle of Duane Reade.
You don’t have to be in a relationship to be complete. Also, there is no complete, it doesn’t exist and never has. This whole “you complete me” thing is pure Hollywood vomit.
Manifesting things takes a lot of work. If you want to make a visualization board first, go right ahead. But please know that staring at images and words on a board is just staring, it’s not actually making anything happen.
You don’t have to go to every Sunday night dinner. Negotiate. Two out of four per month is plenty. They are not your family, they are his or hers or theirs. Plus, they will enjoy having the freedom to gossip about you.
If you plan on having the kind of sex that can get you pregnant, then please make sure your partner is Pro-Choice. It is insane to let a penis – that is attached to a man who hates women – inside of you.
If your partner gets upset when you want to travel with your friends without them, then you probably ignored an early red flag.
Two hundred dollar face cream is just the patriarchy laughing at you. And if the face cream company is owned by a woman named Jelilah who harvests the ingredients under a full moon at her organic farm, it is still just the patriarchy laughing at you.
Sincerely & with love, Your beloved grandmother (who would appreciate a handwritten note every once in awhile so that I know you can still write cursive)
“November first and there’s snow on the ground. It’s the beginning of winter. It’s not literally the beginning of winter, but you know what I mean. Time to take down the Halloween decorations and put up the holiday sparkle.”
“Can hardly wait.”
“Let’s buy new lights for the front of the house, strings and strings of lights. Maybe the glittering shrubs will help take our mind off what’s happening in the Middle East. It’s just so upsetting isn’t it?”
“Totally.”
“We need a new holiday theme. Last year we decorated in silver and blue, this year let’s do pink & gold ~ it will be beautiful. Maybe the tree will help take our mind off what’s happening in Ukraine. It’s just so upsetting isn’t it?”
“Horrible.”
“I’m thinking of doing something different with my hair for the holidays. Maybe streaks. What about pink and gold streaks to match the tree? You know, just for fun. I mean the world is so grim these days. Grim. Have you read about Congo? Apparently there are 6.9 million displaced people there. How is that even possible? Anyway, I think a few streaks will lift my spirits. It’s absolutely exhausting to read about all this suffering.”
“I know right?”
“Everyone on Instagram is posting upsetting stuff which is so triggering. It’s like bringing up all my old trauma. I mean I don’t have really really bad trauma, but my parents did get divorced when I was 11. Could they have picked a worse time? It really fucked me up.”
“So selfish of them.”
“I’m just out here trying to live my best, most authentic life and this constant negativity is getting me down. It creates a toxic environment. I mean is there even one positive thing going on right now?!”
“Taylor Swift is dating that cute football player.”
“OMG you’re right, I totally forgot. They’re so cute together. I bet she’s going to marry him. I can hardly wait to see her wedding dress!”
“Yes, thanks. Do you have a face cream that will give me back the last ten years of my life?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh and I also need an eye cream to return the color under my eyes to a medium-ivory. This dark blue shade is not doing anything for me.”
“We have a lovely new certified organic, certified cruelty-free, certified clean facial beauty system called: “It’s All Happening.” Would you like to try some samples?”
“No. I like chemicals. Nothing too clean. Give me hardcore products that mad scientists have invented.”
“It’s not fair to our environment to fill it with hash chemicals, that’s why skincare companies are finally going clean and green.”
“I don’t care about the environment right now. I care about getting my face back. My face looks like I’ve given up on life.”
“Well have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Have you given up on life?”
“Not yet, but we’re only a few months into the new year. Please just show me the products that have all the chemicals.”
“Fine, but you’re ruining the planet just for vanity’s sake.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re young with flawless juicy skin. Get back to me when you’re my age.”
“I’m going to embrace aging. Aging is a privilege after all.”
“Oh my God, I can’t even…please, just point me to the lotions and potions aisle.”
“Over here. This is your section. It’s a new, highly toxic, chemical-y skincare line created by a former CIA weapons analyst.”
“Perfect. I appreciate your help. I promise to make a donation to Save The Planet to offset buying these evil products.”
I once dated a guy who was a gigolo. Of course I didn’t realize he was a gigolo when I first met him. I just thought he was a friendly dude in my apartment building. One evening he knocked on my door and there he was holding a plate of homemade spaghetti – smooth move. He was very funny and used to sing Tom Jones songs until I was crying with laughter.
I also dated a guy whose house was full of cockroaches. I had never seen a cockroach before, therefore seeing a bazillion of them when I turned on the kitchen light in the middle of the night was terrifying. It felt like I was in an 1980’s horror movie – with fabulous hair, makeup and clothing by moi of course.
There was the boyfriend who literally passed me over to another man, like they were farmers and I was prized cattle. We had broken up and he knew the other guy really liked me, so he said something like: “She’s yours now, take care of her.”
Let’s not forget the “give your girlfriend cocaine on her twenty-first birthday boyfriend,” because of course as young women that’s exactly the gift we dream about getting. Not jewelry, but hard drugs.
Oh and the boyfriend who had a thing for long finger nails! That was a problem for me because I was and still am a nail biter. But thankfully the drugstore lady introduced me to “Lee’s Press-On Nails.” I’m forever grateful to her for helping me keep my man happy.
There are more men and more stories, but for now this is it. Just a little fun list to jazz up your Wednesday.
“Why aren’t you out there having sex? You’ve been single for almost three months.”
“I hate casual sex, it’s horrifying.”
“What? Casual sex is the best! It’s like trying on shoes to find out what type of heel you like – stiletto, square, platform…”
“Nice analogy. But no. Letting a man inside my body – like hi, come and put your penis in my vagina – without knowing anything about him is terrifying.”
“It’s liberating. Not knowing them and just experiencing pleasure is freeing.”
“Three years ago I had a one night stand with a beautiful man. As I was going down on him, he started talking about how his mother still buys his underwear. I almost got up and left the house, except that we were in my house. So for the rest of the night, as we were having sex, all I could think about was his mother buying him underwear at Target.”
“Nooooooo! That did NOT happen. You just made that up.”
“I wish to GOD that I made that up. But it’s 100% true. You can stop laughing anytime now.”
“You have ruined Target for me.”
“Or what if I sleep with someone then find out afterwards they don’t believe in global warming? Or that they own like ten semi-automatic rifles?”
“Ha! That’s why you sneak out early, it’s a skill you can master, trust me.”
“Once I accidentally slept with a high school student. I’m not even sure it was legal. I felt so gross.”
“Dying. I’m dead. What happened?!”
“I thought I was having a weekend fling with a cute college guy – Jackson. He was 22 years old and I was 32 at the time, so it felt kind of naughty and fabulous. Sunday morning he woke up early to buy us coffee and croissants – sweet. Except that he forgot his phone on the bedside table and it wouldn’t stop ringing – it was his mother. But I mean lots of people chat with their parents on the weekend right? Then I started hearing pings from incoming texts and because I’m a horrible person I read them. They were all from his mother:
Jackson, where the hell are you?! You’re seventeen years old, you can’t just NOT come home at night. Your father and I are worried sick. Please text us so that we know you’re not lying in a ditch Also, you have to finish your American History paper Love you, Mom
“That kid had major moves. Kinda gotta respect a teenager with that much swagger.”
“True. But you see my point right? I’m not cut out for casual sex.”
“Ya, I get it now. I guess you just have to wait around until you meet another “Mr. Almost Kind Of But Not Really Mr. Right,” then you can have sex again.”
“Exactly. In the meantime, let’s go shoe shopping.”
sparkledame 