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.

Dear C,

Ever have one of those days where you find yourself drowning in the minutiae of life? I was feeling so proud of myself for canceling 10AM meeting to discuss the burning issue of what to do for the end of year second grade party, only to spend the rest of the morning trading emails back and forth on the subject. No sooner had I sent off the first amendment to the fifth draft on the matter, when I was bombarded with emails from the girls’ camp counsellor, demanding receipt of their complete medical records, including Apgar scores, developmental milestones and an account of every bowel movement they have had since birth. The final nail in the coffin, inevitably, came in the form of a missive from my father, asking for the eighth time whether or not I had tracked down the missing screw from his spectacles yet. This from the man who refuses to bother the oldballandchain at work, because he is apparently far too busy catching up with Celebrity Poker to deal with such mundane requests!

As I know you frequently find yourself attending to such matters instead, say, of attending to the pool boy, I believe the time has come, dear C, for you and I to fight back. An official title and a PA to announce we are permanently out to lunch and I think we would finally garner some of the respect that tending to one’s family simply never garners. Are you in?

Faithfully,

P.

P,

Your approach, although filled with excruciating earnestness, won’t get us much more than a little disdain in D.C.  I find it far better to simply focus on matters we find most pressing, like doing anything the summer camp counselor requests, as one’s summer spa visits are especially important for aging skin, and ignoring, well, almost everything else. 

Never doubt, dearest P, there is always another mother, and almost never a father, willing to consider the pros and cons of the much complained about teacher’s end of year gift and other such pressing concerns.  There are even some, I fear, who derive a sense of ego gratification from such tasks.  My advice when you find yourself immersed by accident, is to simply either offend all others involved (I wrote the manual on this so don’t hesitate to ask for specific examples), or simply don’t respond at all. 

Early on in your absence the brood will cluck about your whereabouts and perhaps even inquire about your health (something I know you love to discuss so this will require some restraint).  Simply ignore all calls and emails and, eventually, you will be forgotten.  Totally.  And completely.

I know it is hard for you to imagine there are those who have such a sucking void in their lives that they agree to help on useless and unimportant matters to fill it and then instantly regret participation when effort is required.  I know, like me, you’d like to avoid all effort from the beginning and simply try to numb the void with alcohol. 

My point, dearest P, is that all this may require some patronizing tones and stares, but who, in the end, has the last laugh: the hens scurrying around to do others’ bidding or us, as we lounge by the pool sipping pina coladas and reading trashy chick lit, crowing about our children and their budding independence?  They may later define it differently, but that is all for their therapists to bear, now isn’t it?

Faithfully,

C. 

Dear C,

Not sure if you have had a chance yet to look at the Five Safety Tips for Women email I forwarded to you last week.  In case you haven’t, allow me to bring you up to speed with a re-cap:

1) Always disinfect the tops of soda cans before you drink out of them, because rats living in warehouses love to pee on them;
2) Always use the Full Service option at gas stations, because women who use self-serve have a tendency to spontaneously combust from the static electricity between their clothes and the pump;
3) If you hear what sounds like a crying baby anywhere near your house (including your own baby’s bedroom) DO NOT, whatever you do, go see what’s wrong.  Call the police instead.  It may be that a serial killer is using the recording of an infant in distress to lure you out of your home;
4) Never light a cigarette by leaning over the gas burner.  No amount of professional eyebrow waxing will ever be able to improve the results;
5) If you do happen to run over what appears to be your mother-in-law by accident, always reverse to make sure you have finished her off. You never know when she might turn out to be an axe murderer in drag.

I trust you will pass on these important tips to your nearest and dearest female friends. Who knows, if we can just keep women indoors, the world may be a safer place!

Faithfully,

P.