For example, you are discussing your upcoming trip to Disneyland. You have the tickets in your hand. He says to you, “Can you call the airline and confirm the reservation?”
And you say, “But I have the tickets right here in my hand.”
And he says to you, “Well, I still think you’d better call.”
Then you say, “Well, if you’re worried about it, why don’t you call?”
And then he shrugs his shoulders and walks away, because the point wasn’t really to check the reservations, the point was that he wanted you to call someone because of an irrational need triggered by the husband brain structure to have you spend your time in unnecessary and mindless ways.
Your car is in the shop. They said it would be ready Thursday. It is now only Tuesday. He says to you, “Why don’t you call and see how the car is coming along?”
You say, “Well, they said they would have it done on Thursday. We know what’s wrong with it. They are fixing what’s wrong with it. So I see no need to call them.”
And he says, “Well, I still think you’d better call.”
And you say, “Well, if you’re worried about it, why don’t you call?”
And he shrugs his shoulders and walks away, because the point wasn’t really to see how the car was coming along, the point was that he wanted you to call someone because of an irrational need sparked by the husband brain to have you spend your time in unnecessary and mindless ways.
He’s rushed a suit of his to the cleaners and it’s supposed to be ready for him to pick up the next day. Late that afternoon, he says, “Why don’t you call and make sure my suit will be ready to pick up tomorrow?”
And you say, “Didn’t you tell me it would be ready tomorrow?”
And he says, “Yes, but I think you’d better call and find out if it really will be ready tomorrow.”
And you say, “Well, if you’re worried about it, why don’t you call?”
And he shrugs his shoulders and walks away, because the point wasn’t really to see how the clothes were coming along, the point was that he wanted you to call someone because of an irrational need spurred by the husband brain structure to have you spend your time in unnecessary and mindless ways.
Of course, I could give you at least another forty-seven examples of this off the top of my head, but you get the picture—and I have no need to make you spend your time in unnecessary and mindless ways.
39
The Woman Who Goes Twice a Week to the Elitist Car Wash
Gosh, Stacy, your car always looks so clean,” I commented to another mom while we were waiting for our kids to come out of school.
“Oh, I go to the Lavage de Voiture. Have you been there? It’s an experience.”
“What does Lavage de Voiture mean in English?”
“Car wash.” She shrugged.
“Well, maybe I’ll try it out after I pick up Caroline.”
Stacy said, “You might want to change your clothes before you go. And have your nails done. And maybe some highlights in your hair.”
“Oh,” I said, “right.”
Several days later, after I had my nails and hair done, I pulled up to the Lavage de Voiture. Two male attendants all in white sprinted out to greet me. I left my car in their care and walked into the waiting room where about half a dozen perfectly coiffed women sat.
An elderly gentleman wearing a gray-striped morning coat approached me. “I’m Hubert, your maitre d’,” he said with an English accent. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”
“Oh, well, okay.”
“And would you like an hors d’oeuvre? Our chef just took a tray of lobster in pastry shells out of the oven.” He bent down with a beautiful tray of delectable appetizers that looked wonderful.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, taking three of the shells because I had only had a small breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and sausage that morning.
Hubert continued, “And here’s a selection of magazines for your enjoyment. Would you like the New Yorker, the Atlantic Monthly, or Harper’s?”
I asked, “You don’t have anything like Family Circle, do you?”
Just then a long-legged blond walked in.
“Oh, Hubert, how are you?” she exclaimed. “Today is the day for those yummy lobster treats, isn’t it?”
“Yes, madame, and how good to see you. I’ll go to the kitchen immediately and have the chef cut one up for you. I know you only like to eat a quarter of a lobster pastry shell.”
“Well, I must keep myself in shape, mustn’t I?” she exclaimed.
I looked down at the three pastry shells on my plate.
“And would you like your usual low-carb energy drink, Mrs. Erlhoeffer?
“Oh, Hubert, you’re such a darling. Thank you so much.”
I started to eat my lobster shells. They were the most exquisite appetizers I had ever tasted.
At that point I realized that the blond was staring at something on my blouse, which of course, was part of a pastry shell. I realized at that point that I was probably going to spill more on myself than she was going to eat.
Just then we all heard a loud, screeching sound. After a few seconds someone announced over the loudspeaker, “Mrs. Perry, would you come to the front? The bumper has fallen off your car.”
Everyone looked around the room, eager to see who would claim the bumperless car. I rose and said, “I have to use the restroom,” and proceeded to the front.
A mechanic greeted me at the door and said in a loud voice, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Was your bumper loose before coming here?”
“Not that I know of,” I stammered, trying to make him back up into another room that would be out of earshot. It’s too bad the HIPA confidentiality laws that pertain to the health-care system don’t also apply to your car.
He said, “Well, I’ll tie it up the best I can. It’ll be done in a few minutes.”
A person sitting behind a glass desk said, “You can pay now if you’d like, Mrs. Perry.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” I said. I dug into my purse and handed her a twenty-dollar bill.
“Is this the tip?” she asked.
“No,” I stammered again, “it’s, you know, the payment.”
“Oh, Mrs. Perry, it’s $74.95 to have your car washed here.”
“Oh, of course,” I said, trying not to let me pupils enlarge too much. “I’ll have to give you my credit card.”
“Very good, Mrs. Perry,” she said, taking my card. “You can return to the waiting room for a few minutes while we tidy everything up for you.”
“Yes, I, well, okay,” I said and returned to the other room.
After I had sat there for a few minutes enjoying the rest of my lobster shells, someone came on the loudspeaker again: “Mrs. Perry, your credit card has been declined. Again, Mrs. Perry, your credit card has been declined. Can you please return to the front desk?”
I stood up and with a weak laugh said, “That champagne ran right through me! I’m off to the bathroom again!”
I approached the woman at the glass desk. “I just can’t understand it. I’ll call my husband and have him give you his number.” After calling Michael, everything was straightened out.
A few days later the estimate for fixing the bumper came back from the mechanic. Let’s see:
Manicure: $30.00
Hair color and style: $140.00
Bumper repair: $695.00
Getting the car washed: $94.95 ($74.95 plus a $20 tip)
Eating three exquisite lobster shells: Priceless
I’ve already started saving up to go back.
40
The Woman Who Knows the Difference Between “High Tea” and “Low Tea”
My neighbor Elizabeth and I recently were invited to a “high tea” party in our neighborhood. She sounded anxious on the phone.
“Have you ever been to high tea before?”
I said, “Well, actually, no I haven’t.”
“I’d better app
rove your attire ahead of time. You can’t breeze in there wearing just anything.”
“No, of course not. I thought I’d wear this beautiful linen pantsuit I just purchased.”
“Pants! Pants will never work! This is high tea, not low tea.”
“What should I wear?”
“What did you wear to your own wedding?”
“A long white wedding dress.”
“Just take it down a notch from that and you’ll be fine.”
Finally, the day of the big tea arrived. I was thrilled when we were seated at a lovely table.
Some time later, after the food had been passed, I was about to take a bite of a tiny sandwich, when Elizabeth whispered loudly in my ear, “You don’t start with the sandwich, you start with the scone. Then you have the sandwich and then the dessert!”
“Oh, okay,” I said, dropping the sandwich as if it were filled with shaved lead instead of chicken salad.
I took the small pitcher of cream and poured some into my tea.
“You don’t put the Devonshshire cream in your tea. You dab the Devonshire cream on the scone after you’ve put on the jam!” she whispered emphatically.
“Oh, sorry,” I whispered back. “What should I do with my tea now that the cream is in there?”
“You’d better drink it before someone sees it in there.”
I downed my cup of tea.
After finishing my scone, I popped a tiny sandwich in my mouth.
Elizabeth looked anxiety-stricken, as if I had just placed my leg up on the table. She whispered, “You never eat an entire sandwich at once! Rather, you take tiny bites of it!”
I said, “But it’s only an eighth of an inch. I can hardly see it, let alone divide it up.”
“That doesn’t matter. Do you want the hostess to ask us to leave?”
That sounded pretty good right now, although I still hadn’t had dessert. I took a one-thirty-second-of-an-inch bite of my “sandwich.” Then I took a drink of my newly poured creamless tea.
Elizabeth whispered again, “You never drink tea that way. I was going to say something before, but you were doing so many other things wrong. You must hold the cup and saucer up to your chest, and then take the teacup off the saucer and take a sip of the tea. But never ever just take the cup off the saucer while it’s sitting on the table.”
“Oh, okay.” I began to worry that I might develop some kind of anxiety disorder by the time we were done.
I took another drink of tea after first taking the cup and saucer up to my chest. Since the tea was hot, I blew delicately on it a little bit.
Elizabeth began to clutch her chest. “I can’t believe you just did that!” she whispered loudly.
“No blowing on the tea?”
“Oh—my—God.”
I decided the tea needed something. I asked her to pass the sugar cubes.
“Now whatever you do,” she instructed, “do not let the sugar tongs dip down into your tea.”
“Oh, right.” I carefully dropped a sugar cube in my tea, but because I was holding the tongs so high, the cube dropping into the cup splashed the tea all over my dress.
Elizabeth began to hyperventilate. She grabbed her purse and began digging around. “I know I have some Xanax in here,” she said between breaths. She found a few pills and popped them in her mouth.
That night I had nightmares that I drank the Devonshire cream straight from the little pitcher and that I forced Elizabeth to eat an entire plate of tiny sandwiches all at once. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on a therapist’s face upon learning that I needed treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder because of a tea party. But as I called around, I actually found several therapists who specialize in stress disorders resulting from high tea. With intense treatment, they predicted the nightmares should stop in about five or six years, but that I couldn’t attend any tea parties with Elizabeth until then. It’ll be hard, but I guess my mental health and well-being will have to come first.
41
The Perfect Stage Mom Who Wants the Kindergarten Class to Perform The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant
While in kindergarten, Caroline decided that she wanted to perform in the annual kindergarten play, and since no other moms except for one had signed up, I decided to volunteer. I anticipated how cute Caroline would look possibly in a little red riding costume, or maybe playing Little Bear or the fox in a play adapted from a Maurice Sendak children’s book.
On the first day of rehearsal, we all made our way to the front of the theater and sat down. The stage director, the other volunteer mom, was standing on the stage. She began, “I’m so glad you’re all here today. I have directed plays both on and off Broadway. I’m new to directing actors at this age level, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’ve decided to let all of you choose which play you’d like to perform. Since there are only about ten of you, I was thinking we could do The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant.”
I looked at the group. One of the boys was picking his nose.
“Since you’re not jumping at that one, what about Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris? It’s a wonderful play which celebrates the songs of French composer Brel, with a diverse blend of boleros and tangos.”
She continued, “This play is good in that it explores the nuances of life and death, but never forgetting that life, in the midst of its sorrow and pain, reveals much mirth.”
Several of the “actors” began opening the snacks their mothers had packed for them.
The Perfect Stage Director Mom went on, “Before we decide, I should really get a little information from you. How many of you have ever seen The Iliad: Book I either on or off Broadway?”
One girl started doing backward flips in the aisle.
“No one? I think that something within this particular genre might work, although the antagonist and the protagonist are not closely aligned. And, of course, a play such as this would require a neutral density filter, with which I doubt this theater is equipped. We should probably do something which contains a performative, you know, which is understandable only within a matrix that is social and semiotic at the same time.”
One of the girls said in a loud voice, “I cut my finger today playing in the sandbox. Does anyone want to see it?”
All of the “actors” ran over to take a look.
“That’s nothing,” said another voice. “I once gashed my head open and had fourteen stitches.”
In a louder voice I heard, “I once had twenty stitches!”
Still louder, “I had thirty!”
“Really?” they all chorused in amazement.
“Yeah, I fell off a trampoline onto a rock. It was really cool! Do you want to see my scar?”
They all crowded around him and yelled in unison, “You’re so lucky! Lucky, lucky, lucky!”
“Class, class,” she exclaimed. “I need your attention. It seems that you’re saying you’d like to do a more physically intense play. We could do The Last Word, a play about the character Henry Grunewald, a Viennese Jew who fled Germany during World War II. In fact, that play is about to open off Broadway. Wouldn’t it be fun if we could all fly to New York and go? The tickets to the play are cheap—I believe they’re in the sixty- to seventy-dollar range. And then of course there’s airfare and hotel costs. Lauren, how much money do we have in our theater fund?”
I cleared my throat. “Three dollars and fifty-seven cents.”
She looked crestfallen.
I continued, “As enticing as it sounds to take a group of six-year-olds to New York and see a play about the Nazi regime, why don’t we just focus on the play we’re going to do?”
She continued anyway with the Nazi theme. “What about Radio Mirth and the Third Reich, which is a depiction of how the Golden Age of radio distracted the world as the Germans swept their way through Europe?”
I said, “I think something lighter might be good.”
She thought for a few seconds. “I’ve got it! What about My Mother�
�s Italian, My Father’s Jewish and I’m in Therapy! That’s a wonderful, light play. I just love the part of Uncle Vito.”
I looked around the room. I began calculating that if I flung my body from the stage into the orchestra pit I might be hurt badly enough to be out for the entire play.
I think I’ll try it. I just might get lucky, lucky, lucky.
42
The Woman Who Loses Weight Without Hanging Out at the Center for Infectious Disease Control
I was scanning a magazine at the grocery store checkout line when a headline caught my eye. It read, PARSLEY IS THE PERFECT ANYTIME FOOD.
Instantly, I became incensed. Everyone knows that doughnuts are the perfect anytime food—breakfast, mid-morning snack, lunch, midnight… How many foods do you feel like eating anytime?
I returned home intent on sharing a good laugh with my husband over it. He, however, turned serious.
“You know, Lauren, this is probably not the time to bring up the subject of a diet, but we did promise ourselves we would start cutting back on January second and it is already the fifteenth.”
Why hadn’t I kept my big mouth shut?
He was on a roll now. “Remember how great Bill and Sandra Wells looked at the office Christmas party? They each lost fifteen pounds.”
A few dietless days passed and I kept thinking how great Sandra Wells had looked. Damn her. Fifteen pounds and new fake nails. I was so jealous. That could be me at the company summer picnic.
I made an appointment at the local diet center. I couldn’t believe that I was actually going to pay someone to nag me about eating.
I entered through the glass doors warily. Everyone was smiling, helpful, and thin.
“Hi, I’m Joan. I’ll be your personal counselor. Let me show you around. This is our ‘Wall of Fame.’ It’s for before and after pictures.”
I was surprised to see how successful these people had been. I even recognized a clerk at my local grocery store in one of the pictures.
“Step in my office and we can get started,” Joan invited.
The Woman Who Is Always Tan and Has a Flat Stomach Page 11