desperate in dc
desperate in dc

Archive for November, 2009

IQED

November 17th, 2009 : No Comments »

Dear C,

I am hoping you can help with a little marital dispute the oldballandchain and I seem to be having (shocking, I know).

It has recently come to my attention that my IQ is three points higher than his. Never mind that this knowledge was acquired during the course of an at-home intelligence test administered by the twins; or that the results are most likely within the margin of statistical error, resulting from one or two lucky guesses on my part. (The oldballandchain doesn’t need to know that part). The fact remains, dear C, that by this measure, at least, I am objectively smarter than my spouse, which I believe entitles me to the final word in most matters. Wouldn’t you agree?

Imagine how much simpler and more pleasant life would be if only the OBC simply concurred with all plans and requests (alright, orders), instead of resisting with the kind of knee-jerk stubbornness which reminds me why I never want a two-year old again? Think what joy those four little words: ‘Whatever you say, honey’ or ‘You are so right, dear,’ would bring. If only the OBC would agree concur with everything I say, want or do, our marriage would be perfect, and the whole family would be happier, as a result.

Of course, the fact that I continue to rely on the OBC as our main breadwinner is troubling, but hardly surprising, given that girls consistently outperform boys across the board on academic tests, before embarking on marriage, motherhood and a life of multitasking that leaves no time for the lofty, but single-minded business of actually ruling the world.

Naturally, the OBC disputes the results, and is busily researching further intelligence tests for us both to take as I write. Fortunately, if his traditional lack of follow-through is anything to go by, he will do what he always does when I ask him to fix something around the house, and rush out to buy all the requisite materials, then never quite complete the job.

Assuming this is the case, I would be more than happy to pass these materials along for you to make your case with hubby as well.

P.

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Posted in Educating the Masses

Re: IQED

November 17th, 2009 : No Comments »

Darling P,

Really shocked to discover you don’t already know that hubby already agrees with everything I say.  In fact, he often fails to allow me to finish a complete thought before declaring I am “absolutely right”  while returning, head bobbing in consent, to his blackberry. 

The problem, of course, is that he hears not one single word I’ve uttered but has learned, much like our darling dog who shall not be named, that submission is truly the only path of success in this household.  Occasionally, but only so, he will declare that I know “every fucking thing” or some such hogwash as a way to assert a measure of resistance to my decisions.  As soon as I immediately offer to hand off  “every fucking thing” to him, however, he quickly retreats.

I worry that any objective so-called IQ tests would only muddy the already cloudy waters of our delicate balance of power.  What if, in fact, hubby  proved himself the more capable one?  I fear that I would simply retort with a battery of emotional intelligence tests that might damage his already limited capacity for caring for me and the cherubs.

In case it isn’t already clear enough, darling P, I think must state quite frankly that I would be happy to meet hubby on almost any stage of competitive play.  The sad fact, however,  is that I would have no regard for anything or anyone (read: the cherubs) if we started down that potentially thorny path.  I would win, frankly, at any cost.  Just don’t think I’m prepared to let him know that–at least not yet.

C.

Posted in Educating the Masses

My Darling, My Soulmate

November 16th, 2009 : No Comments »

Dear C,

It has come to my attention, once again, that not everyone in this world considers us to be two separate people. The first time it happened, you will recall, was when a reader stumbled across our correspondence and asserted her belief that only one person was writing both sides of our intimate exchange. Thrilled as I was to discover that you and I might be considered two halves of the same orange (a thought that has often crossed my mind, but was never expressed, for fear it would come across as well, creepy), I was nevertheless alarmed to think that anyone could consider either one of us narcissistic enough to invent the other for the sole purpose of communication. You and I may be single-minded in our pursuit of fame and fortune, dear C, but we are at least outward-looking enough to care what each other has to say, if not our husbands and children.

The second case of mistaken identity occurred this morning, as I endured the brutal attentions of D., our beautiful but sadistic Pilates instructor. There I lay, with my feet hiked over my head in those wondrous furry stirrups on the aptly named Reformer, doing my best to sweat my way to redemption, when what do I hear but D, barking orders at ‘C’ to ‘contract your pelvic floor muscles – harder.’

Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you depart for a quick holiday shopping trip to NYC several days ago? Naturally, I looked around the studio to double-check, before responding on your behalf. Never mind that you are a couple of inches taller and several pounds lighter than me (dammit) or that I am a chemically enhanced blonde while you are a natural brunette. It’s enough to make me wonder why I expend so much time and money on exercise and highlights, not to mention so much discipline NOT eating, when no-one else, apparently even notices the difference.

Then it occurred to me. Since your hubby and cherubs share many of the same needs as me and mine, might I propose an informal wife swap, by way of an experiment? Pretend to be me for a week or so, while I take off for sunnier climes, and I promise to do the same for you. It just might be a win-win situation for everyone.

In the meantime, hurry back, dear C. It’s getting hard dealing with the oldballandchain’s demands, let alone those of D. and our assorted offspring, for the both of us.

P. or is it C?

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Posted in Double Trouble

Re: My Darling, My Soulmate

November 16th, 2009 : No Comments »

P,

You must know I’m not entirely discouraged to hear about the case of mistaken identity.  After all, I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to be blond, in one form or another, and am happy to know someone, somewhere may think it’s so.  Having said that, I fear those who do confuse us, including our spouses and children, may fail to take true note of our serious and separate purposes in the world. 

I blame myself, mostly, as I think we may, occasionally at least, find ourselves in a rapid exchange of what many would consider frivolous information when we are together.  As we don’t usually have much time, we move from one subject to the next in much the same way hubby and the obc take out soldiers in that damn xbox game they love so very much.  However, while they engage in the play that ten year old boys also favor, no one looks askance. As soon as we begin to discuss any topic, quickly, as we must do, we’re treated by many as though it must be of no importance whatsoever and I think it’s b/c we speak so very quickly in each other’s presence.

I think, at times, we’re simply too good at communicating with each other.  While I’ve been known to repeat directions to hubby at least seventeen times and still fail to be heard (or listened to–whatever the case), I need only whisper in your presence to know you understand me.  And that, in addition to learning our posteriors are evidently so markedly similar, even to our exercise instructor, gives me hope for the future. 

I would be more than happy to take the role of wife to your obc whenever your absence is required.  You can rest assured that I too will move quickly away from him, just as you must endlessly do, whenever he moves towards the back end.  That surely proves we are soulmates.

C.

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Posted in Double Trouble

Walk of Shame

November 1st, 2009 : No Comments »

Dear C,

First it was T-shirts. Then it was miniskirts. Now, it seems, I have been forced to relinquish the last bastion of cool: tight jeans. More specifically: jeans so constricting, you need to renounce yoga and take up escape art just to wear them, since you will only have 3 minutes between wriggling them on and wrestling them off before you expire from lack of breath.

In between, I was so proud to be able to worm my body into a size 27 pair of J Brand, pencil leg, low rise super dark denims that I immediately decided to take them for a walk, and not just to see if they would loosen up upon wearing, as the salesgirl at Barney’s Co-op had promised.  As I strolled, or rather mozied on down the street (it was hard to bend my legs), I certainly got the reaction I was hoping for. People certainly gave me the old elevator look: up and down. Just not in a good way. More like a subversive, ‘what was she thinking?’ kind of gaze. And that was the women. The men just averted their eyes.

Then I realized my basic rookie mistake: I had neglected to ask the twins their opinion before I set foot outside the door! Had I done so, of course, their howls of protest would have immediately alerted me to the full horror of the fashion faux pas I was about to make. Of course, the fact that I’m now off to return the J Brands and scout the shelves in Gap should in no way suggest I am ready to relinquish the Cause. But I suspect, dear C, that you already knew that. Merely, I now recognize there has to be  a middle way between the latest fashions and social humiliation. Oh yes, and I need to tell the twins that while I appreciate their honest opinion, do they need to make me cry?

P.

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Posted in A La Mode, DC, Fashion, Oldest Swingers in Town

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