P,

Do you and the oldballandchain have a "forsake you for no others but…" list?  Apparently, it’s all the rage these days.  Although I’ve never given it much conscious thought, I guess I’ve always known that if George Clooney were to pop by for a cocktail, I might not even remember I had a hubby and many children.  Didn’t find it necessary, however, as part of the wedding vows to remind my foxhole partner that I would happily abscond with the first celebrity to show me his million dollar smile if given the opportunity.  Nor do I need to know if it works in reverse.

Now, indulge me, P, because here’s how I see my scenario playing out.  You, the oldballandchain, hubby and I are having dinner in, perhaps, Cafe Milano, a venue known for movers and shakers.  We are seated at the bar, waiting for our table, when Mr. Clooney enters the establishment (he is known to occasionally frequent DC–at least during his failed attempt to produce the little known "K Street").  We immediately lock eyes and he asks if he may buy me a drink.  Hubby, shocked, immediately tries to defend my honor.  Somehow the oldballandchain goes down in the scuffle.  I ask the boys to stop doing this on my account and tell them there’s plenty of me to go around.  I take hubby aside and gently remind him of our pact, and although there’s no million dollars waiting for him in the morning, I will see him then.  Much like the scene in An Officer and a Gentleman, when Debra Winger is carried by Richard Gere triumphantly from the factory floor, George hoists me like a rag doll and carries me to parts unknown.  The entire restaurant, even you, dearest P, is applauding.

Sorry to end so abruptly, but youngest cherub has just left me a potty training nugget on the carpet.  Who says, however, dearest P, that teaching young girls their fairy tales as children is a bad thing?  Although Cinderella must inevitably descend her throne, she can always remember the night she danced.  Or thought she did.

Faithfully,

C. 

P,

It is so good to have you back in town.  I’ve had no one with whom to share my recent discovery.  Against any better judgment, I succumbed to the voices in my head suggesting a tight tee would somehow enhance my image.  Quickly discovered it was too tight for anyone with good sense, and it was necessary to wear it au natural, that is, sans brassiere.  Now, if you had been in town, or if hubby had been paying attention, I may not have made it out the front door.  In the end, youngest cherub and I had a lovely outing to the market which led to many other successful errands.  It seems, dearest P, that I was able to effectively parade my "nipplage" through my skintight apparel.  Women clearly disdained me, but men seemed to fall all over themselves to help and listen to my scintillating insights about, well, everything. 

Oh, dear P, it was if I was twenty again and well in command of my universe.  The bondage of matrimony seemed to fall away as I flirted shamelessly to have some big brutish types load groceries, laundry, liquor–you name it.  I considered dropping youngest at home and taking my new well exposed friends to more interesting venues but quickly realized I was really more show than go. 

At last I asked hubby what he thought of my new sparkling self and he mentioned I seemed to have a couple of smudges on my flattened down bust line.  When I mentioned they were called nipples, he smiled smugly and suggested he had forgotten because the children in recent years had more access to them than he did.  Well it didn’t take long to convince the poor slob that his terrible plight could be remedied–if he agreed to a full compliment of household chores.  Once again the old girls came through for me. 

Considering making my way down to that fancy preschool today and hoping youngest might have a better chance for entry if I present things in a new light.  It seems, however, that child care is still a largely female enterprise and my little discovery might not make such a good impression there.  Ah well, better to be banned than go unnoticed, right P?

Faithfully,

C.

Dear C,

So that explains why the oldballandchain rushed over to fix your computer today, while mine continues to languish in darkness! Also, why his own hard drive appeared so full of zip and vigor upon his return….Reassuring, in a way, to discover that it wasn’t simply your superior looks and witty repartee, which was my first conclusion when I saw the way he kept slapping you on the back and laughing like a drain at all your knock-knock jokes.  I feel so much better now that I realize it was all just a ploy to get a better look at your software.

Not sure I am brave enough to attempt a little T-shirt liberation of my own, if only because I fear the entire world, and not just the oldballandchain, may fail to notice.  Worse, I may endure the opprobrium of my daughters – and we all know that hell hath no fury like a scornful pre-teen.  In your case, however, with your vastly superior assets, might I suggest the addition of a couple of tassles or silver stars, a la Janet Jackson, when it comes to the crucial private school interviews for the youngest?  After all, should your interrogator turn out to be the kind of stone-faced harridan who would never see the humor in any kind of knock-knock joke, let alone your own personal wardrobe malfunction, you can always claim that said appendages are merely mini breast pumps, deployed so that you can continue to nourish your five-year old while pursuing your high-powered career.

Let me know how it goes.

Faithfully,

P.

P,

If, as you have suggested on more than one occasion, we are defined by our accessories, I’m afraid I may belong in the discount bin.  Found myself considering all this as I prepared for my annual check-up for the nether regions.  As I groomed for the inspection, it occurred to me I was, perhaps, unusually buoyed by the prospect of pleasing dr. gyn with my, shall we say, fluffed up parts.  Although hubby frequently praises her for his own selfish purposes, he has, dare I say it, no real expertise.  Even if we assume he was quite the cad in college, it is highly unlikely he has gazed upon nearly the number of lovely bits as my dr. strange love. I realized, in quite startling fashion (nearly nicked myself in fact), that I was preparing for the exam in the hopes that the good dr. might exclaim, "Dear God, I’ve seen so many of these but yours is, well, so elegant (and thin?) as to put all others to shame."

I was, needless to say, completely disappointed by the reality of the encounter.  In fact, dr. burst-my-bubble had nothing to say about my well-groomed muff at all.  He did have a momentary concern about some internal enlargement but backed down when I suggested abdominal excess does have several layers.  As he wrote me the necessary prescriptions to deal with stay at home motherhood, I took the opportunity to look deep in his eyes and ask whether he enjoyed the job.  "Oh honey, he said (did I mention he’s gay?), when you see as many of these as I do, you just learn to get through the day." 

I was so despondent from my encounter that I was forced to visit Neiman’s without you.  I’m still settling on which Chanel sunglasses to purchase but know this is one accessory that won’t be overlooked and, frankly, may be openly admired.  I was less thrilled that the shoe guy took one look and told me to come back Thursday for the shoes I coveted as a sale was on then.  I’d like to think he was merely helpful but I’m afraid he saw through my charade and knew I was just another middle-aged mother with a heart-shaped muff looking for love in all the wrong places.

Do hurry home, dear P, it’s getting awfully hairy (or hairless?) around here without you.

Faithfully,

C.