Are You Suffering From Post Valentine’s Day Depression?

February 15, 20174 Comments

Sad, perhaps feeling a little sorr il-570xn-707051452-8dme y for yourself, or just mightily ticked off? Don’t worry, I’m here for you during this egregious 24 hours known as the day after Valentine’s Day or what we in the health community call DAVD.

DAVD is not something to take lightly or should it be down played. It’s a serious, although not life threatening condition, where a person (usually a woman, okay always a woman) is battling a riptide of emotions from disappointment to downright horrified amazement that her significant other totally dropped the ball on the most commercialized, show offy, romantic day of the year.

To guide you through your journey of emotions I first need you to unclench your fists and take a couple of deep cleansing breaths that don’t involve any crying jags where you claim your sweetie has the romantic acumen of Homer Simpson.

In an effort to begin healing you must step away from any social media. You’re in a very fragile state and in no way need to see any more pictures of female friends and frenemies sharing their stellar Valentine’s Day experiences or worse (oh so much worse) all the mushy, lovey-dovey prose about how much your sorority sis, cousin or cubicle buddy l-o-v-e their “man.”

Oops, I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t mean for that last sentence to make you cry again. It’s all going to be okay. DAVD therapy involves exposing Valentine’s Day for what it really is – an occasion designed to make men look bad.

Oh, you heard me right girlfriend and don’t think I just didn’t see you throw me some side eye. I speak the truth. Allow me to break it down for you.

Valentine’s Day goes way back to the year of 270 and it wasn’t always a man hater. No one can pinpoint that exact date it went off the rails, but I’m going to ballpark it to when woman started receiving flowers at work. The bigger the bouquet the larger the love.

Now, thanks to social media things have escalated into an unprecedented attack on a man’s adoration. If a guy doesn’t deliver an Instagram worthy show of devotion than apparently he’s a dud. This right there is the root of 21st century DAVD depression.

For you to heal you must first forgive your significant other for living an authentic life that doesn’t revolve around “what will my 621 friends on Facebook think” and praise him for being engaged in other less show off romantic pursuits like getting your oil changed for you.

The next step in conquering your DAVD is to think beyond February 14. Ask yourself what does my sweetie do the other 364 days out of the year? If the answer is a lot than please just let his lack of buying power on 2/14 go.

Lastly, I’m going to give you some DAVD coping skills to help you through the next V Day.

1) If you want flowers delivered to your place of employment of Valentine’s Day order them yourself. (So what if you say they’re from your husband. You know he would have gotten you flowers if you texted him like 100 times to do it.)

2) If anyone has the crassness to ask what you got for Valentine’s Day (when in reality you got a McValue meal at the drive thru) respond simply “I got the best human in the world.”

And 3) If you’re feeling left out that you don’t have a braggy social media post to share just quote a love sonnet from Elizabeth or Robert Browning. Bonus, it will make you’ll seem smart and classy.

If none of this works go buy yourself a box of, now discounted, Valentine’s Day chocolate and self-medicate. If you’re still in bad shape I suggest adding in a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies to really help take the edge off. Trust me on this – it works.

A Different Kind of Romance

February 12, 2015February 13, 20168 Comments

Practicality is the death of romance.

I have always joked that my husband is the most unromantic bipedal mammal currently roaming the planet. Seriously, he gave me dish towels for a Valentine’s Day present. Did I mention that this was when we were d-a-t-i-n-g? Way to really bring it in the courtship department. In his defense the dish towels did have little hearts on them and I do enjoy a clean kitchen. But now thinking back over all the years we’ve been together I’m going to admit that, perhaps, I’ve been the slayer of all romantic flourishes. The one who takes Cupid’s little arrow and snaps it in two.

I can’t be the only woman who has gotten upset when her spouse drops a chunk of cash on flowers for Valentine’s Day. I remember back when we had our first baby and my husband bought a $50 bouquet and all I could think about was the Huggies diapers we could have purchased with that money. Slowly, over the years, I fear I’ve molded (some might say scared) him into being a less than ardent purveyor of all things smoochie sweet.

It might have started back in the late 90’s when I declared Valentine’s Day an overpriced, overrated occasion and suggested we play it smart and celebrate it a week later on February 21. I called it “Valentine’s Day observed.” Talk about a cost savings. You’ve got your cards and candy at 50 percent off or more and flowers are back to their pre-February 14 prices.

In fact, a life long dream of mine has been to celebrate Christmas on New Year’s Eve. Sure, you go ahead and do the religious stuff on 12/25, but save the gifts for a week later.

Can you imagine the savings from shopping at all the after Christmas sales? I’m getting excited just thinking about it. Too bad, my family won’t support me in making this a reality. Every time I bring it up all I get is the, “But it wouldn’t seem like Christmas” whine. Maybe not, but imagine how great New Year’s Eve would be.

Besides my frugal nature functioning as a love connection wet blanket, my theory that the more romantic the man the less I would trust him has also probably served as a lovey dovey killjoy.

Work with me on this ladies. Let’s be honest and think of all the men we know who are/were kings of the grand romantic gesture. These are the guys who concoct costly, show stopping shows of affection for their significant others usually in front of an audience. Now, let’s analyze their behavior using my “go to” for most things in life – the Rotary Four-Way Test.

Is it true? Yes and no. I’ll be kind and say I’m sure the guy making what amounts to a scene to prove his undying love is possibly smitten with his lady-love. Yet, the fact that by causing a scene he is focusing all the attention on himself makes me leery of his real motives.

Is it fair to all concerned? No. Because in a lot cases the huge show of devotion is more about the guy and his “look at me” disorder than the girl he professes to love.

Will it build goodwill and friendship? No, most especially if you debut your love spectacle in an office environment thus creating an undercurrent of seething jealousy among the females and undying disgust from all the guys in the office for making them look bad.

Will it be beneficial to all concerned? No. (See all of the above.)

I think I’ve now more than proved that Mr. Romance might be all show and even worse it’s always all about him. Or much, much, worse he’s using his larger than life show of affection to distract from the real defects in the relationship. That’s why for me relationship math goes something like this: Three dozen roses = Your special someone is hiding something. Think what you will about this equation, but I, at least, know it’s easier to understand than Common Core.

The problem is real day in and day out romance is not very, well, romantic, but it does make you feel loved. What wife hasn’t felt a surge of passion when her husband unloads the dishwasher and sweeps the kitchen floor? I’m I the only one swooning right now? Or gets the tires rotated on your car AND takes the kids with him so you can be blissfully alone.

So maybe practicality doesn’t kill romance. Maybe romance changes and while flowers are nice having your sweetheart drive the Saturday morning 7 a.m. soccer carpool is even better.

*Attention Snarky Friends, I have a brand new book out. It’s the second in the Snarky in the Suburbs series – Snarky in the Suburbs Trouble In Texas. You can buy it for your Kindle or in paperback on Amazon. It’s also available for the Nook or you can get it for your Kobo reader. Click on a link and give it a test read. I hope you like it! 🙂

Valentine Hangover

February 15, 2014February 16, 20147 Comments

Are you suffering from V.D.H.? A Valentine’s Disappointment Hangover. Never fear my sweet one – Snarky Radio is here to help with this week’s 60 Second Snarky.

And for those of you not wanting to click on the link here is the text.

Depressed, feeling unloved, self medicating with chocolate all because your Valentine’s Day kind of, sort of, stunk. Relax, I’m here to make it all better by sharing this latest scientific research – the worse your Valentine’s day the better your marriage. That’s right ladies if your Valentine’s Day consisted of eating your children’s candy and chasing it with a glass of a chardonnay, who am I kidding let’s make that a carton, while your husband looked confused that you were GASP mad at him for forgetting that February 14 is the official day of adoration – than you’ve got yourself a real keeper.

How can that be you ask? Years of fact-finding field work show that the husband who wouldn’t know a grand romantic gesture if his life depended on it is happy, secure in his love for you and in your love for him plus has bigger things to worry about like the other 364 days of the year. On the other hand, the man who showers his wife with flowers, not purchased at a convenience store, jewels and decorates her pillow with rose petals is kind of shady, like he’s either hiding something and/or feels guilty, really guilty.

So, my sad Valentine, slap a great big smile on that pretty face of yours, wrap yourself up, I’m talking really get cuddly in the blanket of superiority for having a non romantic spouse. Because nothing says I love you like a man who forgets Valentine’s day.

Oh, and that scientific research I was talking about – um, I might have made up that.

The Un-Valentine – The New Sexy

February 9, 2011February 13, 201616 Comments

Give it up ladies, most men are not romantic and it’s time we stop pressuring them to be something that they’re just not very good at and really have zero natural talent for.

Guys abhor Valentine’s Day. It’s a like a love liquidation sale for them. They go out and pay too much for flowers that on February 15 will cost half of what they did the day before. They try to appease our sentimental sensibilities by buying chocolates, treating us to dinner at a too crowded restaurant or possibly the most egregious – shopping for lingerie.

This is a lose – lose for both parties. No matter what he gives you will result in, at best, mildly hurt feelings and, at worst, a crippling psychosis. The lingerie will either be too small (was that a hint to loss weight?) or too big (again – was that a hint to lose weight or worse does he really think I’m the size of Holstein – America’s largest dairy cow?) If the lingerie is shockingly sexy you’ll start thinking that he’s trying to tell you your love life is a bit of a disappointment and could use a big old boost in the excitement department or and this one will mess with your mind, haunt you as you fold laundry, unload the dishwasher and drive carpool – was he thinking about someone else when he bought that get up? What else would explain getting you t-h-a-t?

We read far too much into any gift giving gesture. The flowers, the chocolate, the dinner out and the lingerie are the signs of a man trying to make sure he doesn’t let you down on Valentine’s Day even though he thinks it’s the world’s dumbest day and a day that has “man hater” written all over it and he’s right.

I mean it’s not even a holiday. I know of no one that has ever gotten a paid day off for V.D. So, what does that make it – a celebration of love? No, Valentine’s Day is a commerce driven enterprise to boost sales in the lackluster winter month of February (stuck one month after Christmas and two months until any sizable spring shopping begins). This is why I’m urging you to Un-Valentine.

I believe most men are good (Yes, there are the jerks, the serial cheaters, the losers, the crazies and the criminally insane, but all in all I think most men are okay.) and we need to embrace their essential goodness, by giving them a break and backing way off on our Valentine neediness.

Let’s look at Valentine’s Day from the husband’s perspective. What dude really enjoys buying a mushy card for his wife or debating whether or not he should buy you candy. Will you like it or reprimand him for getting you something that will “make you fat” as in, “Why did you get this for me? You know I’m trying to lose weight.”

Dining out on Valentine’s Day is always a crowded nightmare and with kids that just ups the degree of difficulty, especially if it’s a school night. As for buying lingerie not many guys like to hang out in a Victoria’s Secret and look at panties. They feel like pervs and will buy the first thing a sales associate suggests just so they can get the hell out of there. (Which totally explains the whole peek a boo nipple nighty you got last year.)

I’m sure most men rate strolling the aisles of a lingerie stores right up there with making an emergency Tampax run for their wife. I also don’t really want my husband in a lingerie store. There’s no way he needs to know what size panty I wear. I’m getting embarrassed just thinking about him having to buy me underwear because nothing says “hot wife” like shopping for XL thongs.

If you embrace my idea of the Un-Valentine you will be saving your spouse from these awkward and aggravating Valentine moments and more importantly celebrating the fundamental awesomeness of your husband. Yes, we’re talking about men here, so of course, they’re significantly flawed, but I’m guessing a lot of us already have sexy and romantic husbands we just don’t know it.

Gather around and listen up because I’m here to tell you about the new sexy – it’s called the dependable mate. Oh yeah, day in and day out, dependable is so much better than romance. Romance and passion do not feed your family, keep a roof over your head, or mow the grass. Passion comes and goes and sometimes it comes when you don’t even want it.

Dependable is always needed. If your lucky enough to have a husband who looks forward to coming home (almost) every night, who is there for homework help, bedtime rituals and listens to you or even pretends to (which sometimes can be just as good), who always drives the kids to school in bad weather so you won’t have too, who probably thinks your crazy, but tells himself it’s in a good way and that no matter what obstacles are thrown at your family he’s in it for the long haul and always has your back – then you ladies, are blessed with the new sexy.

Don’t believe me yet? C’mon what’s sexier than having a husband that you can count on 365 days a year 24/7. Nothing. That’s called love, grown-up, mature love. It’s not flashy and won’t impress the neighbors, but there isn’t a Valentine gift in the world that’s better.

My Naughty Valentine

February 7, 2011February 14, 20157 Comments

Valentine’s Day is a celebration designed to make woman feel bad about themselves, their significant other or a combination there of. That’s why I believe that cupid is really an angry baby Satan with a case of advanced diaper rash. Just look at any picture of cupid, that nude bottom has extreme dermatitis written all over it or at the very least a medical grade case of chapped skin. This is why I’m urging women to boycott the adult version of Valentine’s Day. By all means embrace the kid fun stuff – the cards, the heart shape cookies, the class parties – all good. The pressure for the day to be a significant romantic milestone or even a day of mild passion in your marriage, that part you can toss in the trash.

The problem with Valentine’s Day is that it’s become a competitive driven event as in who got the best Valentine present? Who got the biggest (read expensive) bouquet of flowers delivered to work? Who’s husband did the most adorable romantic thing? Who’s spouse spent the big bucks declaring his undying love for his wife. It starts out when we’re young. Even as grade school girls we would sort our Valentines into a boy stack and girl stack and then with our friends examine and discuss in detail the ramifications of each Valentine given to us by a boy. Did the Valentine with the cat saying, “Hey Valentine you’re really cool” mean something more than a Valentine you got from another boy who said, “Hope your Valentine’s Day is really cool.”

Jump to our adult years and we’re essentially still doing the same thing comparing and contrasting our Valentine’s Day. I dread school drop off and pick up on February 14. There’s always that mom who comes in gushing about the incredible gift that was waiting for her when she woke up. One year a mom came to school on V.D. driving a brand new Mercedes she said her husband gave her for Valentine’s. Her story was her hubby kissed her and said, “Hi, gorgeous why don’t you take that adorable self of yours and get up and look out the window and see what Cupid has left you.”

Oh, you guessed it, sitting in the driveway was that new car with I Love You spelled out in rose petals on the hood. As she was screaming, “Oh my God, I love it, I love it”, he came up behind her and hugged her and whispered in her ear that he gave her the car because she still “revved his engine.”

Okay, first ick on the whole revving the engine thing and second, that story was a fairy tale. I know the woman and she had been looking at cars for close to two months and the night before – Valentine’s Eve, while making a carpool drop off I saw the car in her driveway and she was in it without a rose petal in sight. So high-five for the awesome ride, but really did she have to weave that tale of faux romance.

A couple of years ago, I hit my Valentine threshold and did something that, to this day still embarrasses me to think about. One morning at my son’s school one H.E.S.M. (hot elementary school mom) was crowing about her “unbelievable” romantic hubby and how she spent her Valentine’s morning. To say I dislike this women would be an understatement. Most days it took everything bit of self-restraint I had not to haul off and smack her. She was always name dropping and talking about incredibly obnoxious things like flying “private” which I, at first, thought meant, flying somewhere and not telling anyone, because you wanted to keep it, you know, private. I, being a Southwest Airlines type of girl who is not above engaging in hand-to-hand combat for the aisle seat, was baffled to learn it meant not lowering yourself by (gasp) flying in a commercial jet with strangers. She’s also a size double zero and would punctuate every conversation with a comment about how fat she is, so, of course, everyone would tell her “No, no, you are sooo skinny.”

She, for sure, hated me as much as I hated her. Back when our kids were in kindergarten together I, after listening to another one of her “I’m so fat” comments felt duty bound, in the name of double-digit clothing wearers everywhere, to speak up and share with super skinny, that she really wasn’t “fat at all, just mis-proportioned, big-boned, especially in thighs, but I’m sure it was just heredity and there was nothing she could do about it expect maybe surgery.” This, as I had hoped, freaked her out. I’m talking about a woman so skinny she has no butt at all. You’ve seen these women. The ones, who due to zero body fat, are ass-less. Her backside was so flat it could, in a pinch, be used as a desk or maybe a picnic table for one.

I tried to avoid her to the best of my ability, but our kids were always in the same class so there was only so many evasive maneuvers I could practice. On this Valentine’s Day I, along with about 8 other moms, were tortured with her story about how she woke up and discovered that her husband, sometime in the middle of the night had clasped a diamond necklace around her neck. She couldn’t believe it, but then when she walked into the bathroom to check out how it looked on her, she found a diamond bracelet and then when she walked into the kitchen, oh my God, diamond earrings right there by her Lamborghini limited edition coffee maker! (Seriously, there is such a thing.) She had piled on her Valentine jewels and was wearing them as she told her story. Caressing the necklace, touching her earrings and twisting her bracelet around and around her wrist.

I knew, without a doubt, that her “jewels” were “el fakeos.” Primarily because they were too big. They diamonds were size of what actresses wear to the Oscar’s and have security details assigned to them to keep the jewels safe. As far as I could tell our phony little Valentine was security free. When adorning oneself in bogus jewels it’s best to stay in the vicinity of medium. Medium gives the illusion of a genuine stone. When you go too big you’re compromising the creditability of your man-made gems and these “gems” looked like they were purchased, probably with a coupon, at a Sam’s Wholesale Club. Now, while I wholeheartedly endorse knockoff’s and coupons, I don’t cotton to folks who noisily parade their counterfeits around like the real thing. That’s why I muttered under my breath, cubic zirconia, and then coughed a little when the woman standing next to me asked me what I had just said. Well, little Mrs. Super Skinny/C.Z. heard me and to get even asked what my husband had given me for Valentine’s Day?

My husband, hmm, let me see, he had gotten me, oh yeah, I remember now – nothing. But, that was my own business and I was in the mood to do a little damage control. It was also at this point that I went temporarily insane and committed a grave error in judgement. I looked at Mrs. C.Z. and asked, “Do you really want to know?”

She answered back in a sugar laced sarcastic voice, “Of course. I’m sure you got something really great.”

I said,” It was great alright but it’s not something I feel that comfortable taking about at an elementary school.”

She wouldn’t let up and came back with “Oh, was it a kiss?” and then did a giggle.

I think it was the giggle that caused me to plunge into an abyss of filth. To do a pre-emptive strike and defend my character before I share with you what happened next you need to know a couple of things about me. I’m a prude. I don’t like talking about sex and never ever would I even mention something as private as my own romantic interests. I’m a great friend if you want to talk about your kids, your job, your medical issues – any of life’s up’s and down’s I’m there for you, but if you start talking about sex I get very uncomfortable. I blame my mother one of the 20th century’s greatest Puritans.

Now, with that out-of-the-way, here’s what happened next. I slowly walked over to Mrs. C.Z. and whispered something beyond disgusting in her ear. It was so depraved that I will not write it down because I don’t want perverts who are doing google searches to have my blog pop up. Let’s just say I doubt two people could do what I whispered unless they were excessively limber, abnormally double jointed, owned a Pilates reformer and were charter members of Cirque du Soleil. It was that crude. Basically, what I did was take every dirty joke I had ever heard, every exercise move I had ever seen and the floor routine from the Chinese Federation of Olympic Gymnasts and combine it into one very offensive coupling. It took about three minutes to verbalize and when I was done Mrs. C.Z’s face had turned a bright tomato red and she started doing a coughing/gagging thing that caused her to double over, I think, from pain. As she was trying to will air back in her lungs I backed away from her and said within hearing range of everyone else, “Now, that’s a great Valentine- right?!”

As if on cue the bell rang, our kids ran into their classrooms and I skipped out to my mini-van secure in the knowledge that I had bested the “maybe they were diamonds, but I’m betting my children’s college fund they were cubic zirconia” Mom.

Seven hours later I show up back at school to get my kids and everyone, I mean everyone is staring at me. No, not just staring, it was more of a jaw drop, stare, point and whisper move. Oh sweet Lord in heaven, I thought, Mrs. C.Z. has shared my faux sexcapades with every mother at the school.

I swallowed my panic and quickly go and gather up my children. The stares are so obvious even my, then young son, notices and asks as were walking out of the school, “Mommy why is everyone looking at you funny?”

Just as I’m trying to explain to my son that no one is looking at me funny I walk right by Mrs. C.Z. and she gives me a smirk, like she’s taught me a lesson or something along those lines. It was insufferable, I had no choice, but to shame myself more. I stop, look at her and very slowly, utilizing a full tongue extension, start licking my lower lip. She gasps, so I can’t stop myself. It’s like she’s daring me to go on. I then take my left hand and do a circular rub on half of my very ample butt cheek. For an encore, I bite my lower lip and wink. She made a retching sound, like she might throw up the 30 calories she had consumed that day, and I kept on walking. I figured if I was going to be prime gossip material for probably weeks, if not the rest of the school year, I was going go all out. One thing is for certain, no one at that school every mentioned Valentine’s Day to me again and as you would expect, I was shunned by some mothers, play-dates were understandably cancelled and there was a small group of parents that tried to get my ousted from the P.T.A. board. I didn’t care. It was worth it, every filthy little bit of it.

Your Valentine Vajazzle Headquarters

January 31, 2011February 14, 201422 Comments

I sincerely wish I was the kind of person that could ignore a sign at my hair salon that proudly proclaimed “We specialize in Valentine Vajazzles“, but I can’t. I have a bad habit of being overly curious and maybe just a tad, opinionated. Some might call it having a faulty brain to mouth edit system, I prefer to think that I’m only verbalizing what everyone else is thinking. It’s my one true gift in life (well that and complaining). When I entered my hair salon and was greeted with the vajazzle sign I loudly said, “Yuck!” followed by “Are you kidding me?”

I proceeded to complain to my young stylist and she smartly agreed with everything I was saying. After she was done trimming my hair I asked her to fess up and tell me the truth about her thoughts on vajazzling. I figured she was in her twenties and prime vajazzle material. This is where I got the shocker, she tells me that it isn’t her age group that gets their lady parts waxed and bejeweled. It’s women my age (middle-aged moms). This disturbing news troubled me into the next day. So much so that when I’m waiting to pick up kids from school I share my disgust of a Valentine Vajazzle with a cluster of other moms. I expected a unanimous response of ick but what I get is one E.S.H.M (Elementary School Hot Mom. Think skinny jeans, Uggs, tight shirt with full cleavage exposure and half gloves. It’s like she thinks her fingers or so sexy she doesn’t dare cover them up.) who enthusiastically says, “Oh no, it’s a great present! My mom got me one last year for Valentine’s Day!”

My first reaction is that I must have misunderstood her, so I ask nicely without a trace of revulsion in my voice, “Did you just say your mom?”

“Yes,” she quickly replied, “My mom gave me a gift card for a Valentine Vajazzle. It was awesome! They had all these cute heart-shaped crystals and I had them placed in a heart design where the point of the heart pointed to my, you know, opening.”

This doesn’t happen often, but I was rendered speechless. Then the bell rang and kids starting herding out of the school which meant the time for me to make a comment and/or have a follow-up question was over. I had no choice, but to head to my Facebook page to share my horror, but even that couldn’t calm me. I became obsessed with finding out more about the Valentine Vajazzle and the woman who get them.

The very next day, to quench my curiosity, I get on the phone and call the owner of the salon I go too and ask for an interview. I tell her I’m writing a story on Valentine’s Day and want to add in the Vajazzle angle. She told me to come right in. I showed up with a notepad and pen and began my descent into ~~hell~~ the world of vajazzling. As soon as I get there she asks me two questions that got a great big NO! Did I want to see someone being vajazzled and did I want a complimentary vajazzle? I’d sooner see someone give birth than watch a vajazzling and I’d almost sooner give birth than be vajazzled. I quickly took control of the interview and shared with her the question foremost on my mind. What kind of client opts for a vajazzle? Her response left me feeling soiled and deeply ashamed for my demographic – Yes, dear God it’s true – the vajazzle clients are women my age and older! Once, my breathing returned to normal I said, “What do you mean by older?”

The salon owner smiled and said, “Well, we call it the Granny Vajazzle.”

Keep breathing ladies, inhale, exhale, deep breaths and soon everything will be alright. Are you better yet? I hope so because I must, in the spirit of good journalism, keep reporting. I tried not to show my fear and followed up with the only question I could think of why? “Why would a grandma get a vajazzle?”

The salon owner said it was simple economics. “A vajazzle can cost upwards of $300 and not many twenty-somethings have that kind of disposable income for a treatment that, at best, lasts a week. Now, our older women tend to have two things – more money and more time and the vajazzle is a fun little thing to do.”

I’m thinking to myself wouldn’t a “fun little thing to do” be taking your grandkids to the movies? When did a vajazzle become a ladies who lunch hobby? Now that I was in deep vajazzle territory there was no going back I had to plunge forward, “If you don’t mind sharing what’s the oldest age woman you’ve given a vajazzle to?

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” she said. “I’m guessing our oldest is probably 73. She comes in once a month.”

Deep breaths, readers, deep breaths. Suddenly, a mother buying her daughter a Valentine Vajazzle gift card all makes all kind of sense.

I left the salon feeling nauseated and fearful for womankind. What does it say about us if our grandmas, our nanas, our own mothers are getting their down unders, de-foliated and adorned with crystals? I’ll tell you what it says. It says vajazzles are now a health crisis. I strongly believe, with my one semester of required college level health sciences, that a vajazzle is now one of the foremost signs of dementia, perhaps pre-alzheimers. Ladies, I think the time has come to tell our mom’s to drop their drawers. In the name of science and geriatric health, it’s our duty as daughters, to make sure our moms are vajazzle free and if they are sporting a jewelled hoo ha, then you know what you have to do – schedule an M.R.I. stat!

***For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new winter Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Flannel Snarky P.J.’s anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.)

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good. Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival. If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

In Praise of the Unromantic Marriage

October 13, 2010February 13, 201845 Comments

As females we are all raised on the myth of romance. As we grew from girls into young woman we all went in search of the intangible feeling of excitement and ardor that romance promised. As a middle-aged married woman I here to sing the praises of the unromantic marriage.

Now, just because I believe romance is a transitory relationship affliction doesn’t mean I don’t believe in love. Love trumps romance. Although, I have found that many a marriage has been thrown into the divorce dumpster because one or both parties were seeking more romance in their lives. This is a mistake.

I’m here to tell you that some of the best and most durable marriages are built not on romance, but on something as dull as common sense. So, for all of you who are currently reading this and feeling very sorry for me while your spouse simultaneously feeds you grapes as he massages your feet with rose petals – don’t. Let me show you how unromance is the way to go as I myth bust 5 romantic gestures.

Grand Displays of Affection

Basically, a grand display of affection equals a cry for help. I’ll use my neighbors the “Sexy Showoffs” to illustrate this point. This is a couple in search of a “Real Housewives” casting call. These two are all about the spotlight. Every anniversary, every birthday the husband sends his wife on a scavenger hunt around the neighborhood to find clues where to locate her present. This means that almost every neighbor is caught up in the drama of the gift hunt. It starts about a week before the birthday and anniversary with the husband coming over to see if he can leave a hint at your house on such and such date and time for the scavenger hunt.

When we first moved here I said yes to both b’day and anniversary. (Now, I decline to participate in this one-act play without full actor equity wages.) The wife, in a costume, the husband has selected for her to wear, (Can you believe it?) that is in some way a tip about her “big” gift, comes frolicking (most often breathlessly) from door to door collecting clues in the form of little gifts and then ta-da finally locates her mega present. By this time a large portion of the neighborhood is following the wife to see what her grand and glorious husband has surprised her with this time.

Last year it was a car for her birthday and a cruise for their anniversary. Almost every female neighbor, after this shameless bid for attention, always sighs and comments on what a romantic husband Mr. Sexy Showoff is. I roll my eyes while my evil mind tries to figure out what kind of unique hell is going on inside their house to make a couple in their 40’s take to creating a spectacle of themselves twice a year.

For the love of God, the wife was wearing a grass skirt and a coconut bar when she went clue hopping for that cruise. Let’s just say her coconut bra was not sufficiently adequate to cover her more than ample pair of ripe tropical fruits. This old enough to know better mom was flashing the neighbors her nipples the whole time. Oh and did I mention this took place in February. Truly, a nip out.

Romantic? No. A couple in need of counseling? Yes and just maybe forcing your wife outside in winter in a fruit bra and grass skirt constitutes some form of spousal abuse. I’m thinking at the very least pain and suffering.

Besides it in no way can compete with the birthday and anniversary celebrations of the unromantic couple. How can a cruise or a car even begin to rival, say, the gift of a new roof? What’s more romantic than protecting your family. In fact, a new roof is the gift that keeps on giving and it’s so special that it qualifies as not only a birthday gift, but Merry Christmas and Happy Anniversary all rolled into one.

Who hasn’t gotten their heart racing and all a tingle from what I call the trio present. I know when my husband tells me that the new plumbing costs so much that it’s going to be both of ours birthdaychristmasversary gifts I feel so special and blessed. Every time I flush the toilet I imagine I can hear it say, “I love you.”

Date Night

Whoever thought of this needs to be immersed in movie theatre “butter,” rolled in Milk Duds and then used as a swiffer to clean the theater’s floors. What a crock! Like a mom’s to do list isn’t long enough now we have to add date night to it. That’s all I need is the added pressure of finding a babysitter for a Friday or Saturday night. (Okay so my son is old enough to watch his little sister, but hey I remember the thrill of the hunt in finding a sitter all of your kids liked and that didn’t cost as much as getting my hair highlighted.)

Now add in the effort and time of getting myself all gussied up. Factor in the expense of a dinner and movie and the stupidity of making charming “non kid or work related” small talk with my husband. Eww.

Here’s what I’m interested in – Alone Night. The husband takes the kids to the movies. I get to go upstairs, get in my p.j.’s, get in bed, pour myself a little vodka and eat Reece Peanut Butter Cups while watching a chick flick. That’s romance. Why? Because your husband took one for the team by taking the kids and leaving you blissfully alone in a quiet house. Now, you maybe saying how can being alone be romantic? But, you see I’m not alone I have vodka and chocolate so technically speaking I guess you could call it a three-way.

The Hands On Honey

Everyone repeat after me: Just because a couple is all touchy feeling does not a good marriage make. I have known many a marriage plagued by obsessive P.D.A. I’ll even admit to being a little jealous of one couple where the husband was besotted with his wife. His hands were always all over her. Patting, rubbing, nuzzling. It was as if he was looking for buried treasure. If my husband was handling me that much in public I would think he had, a) temporarily lost his vision and was working on honing his other 4 senses or b) he was patting me down in an attempt to find his phone.

This “in love” couple eventually divorced. It came out that the husband was a sex addict and had an extensive porn collection that would make Hugh Hefner blush. I asked the now ex-wife about all the lovey dovey displays and she said it would have been great if it had just been with her, but unfortunately his tactile skills were shared with the female community at large.

In an unromantic marriage you never need to worry about your husband trying to get to 2nd base at your Supper Club. He knows that if he thinks about reaching across the back of your dining room chair to massage your back fat in public you’ll step on his foot and make him help with the after party clean up. The tactile expression any unromantic wife really cherishes is a man’s ability to fondle a dishwasher. Psst, for all your romantics out there that means unload and load a dishwasher.

The Married Forever Club

Just because a couple has been married a long time doesn’t impress me nor do I necessarily find it romantic. Who doesn’t know the couple married for 30 year where maybe 3 years were happy ones. Congratulations on not having the balls to get a divorce. I don’t think you’re a quitter if you get a divorce. In a lot of cases I think it takes guts to give up on a marriage. You’re walking away from a life you thought you wanted and going out into the unknown. That’s takes a certain degree of courage which I feel is immensely braver than parading your coupledom around like your living the romance for the ages when in reality your marriage is a crapfest. At my wedding, many years ago, one of my mother’s friend came up to me and said, “I wish you as much happiness in your marriage as mine has brought me.”

I, being 23 years old, thought it was very sweet. My mother heard it got livid. I was like, “What’s the big deal Mom?” Well, my mother said I had just been cursed. Her friend’s husband was a cheating, horny mess. I was shocked. The couple sashayed through town like they were a very mature Romeo and Juliet. Which goes to prove my long-standing theory that the more ostentatious the marital affection the more I suspect a love fraud.

Were Lovers Not Roommates

That’s like saying you only wear sexy nightgowns or twizzler thongs to bed. When in fact you know you wear a t-shirt and granny panties most nights. There is nothing wrong with, on occasion, being roommates in a marriage. In fact, during certain times in a marriage being roommates is essential for your family’s survival.

Case in point when you bring that new baby home from the hospital you don’t need a Lance Romance you need a roommate. Someone to help you handle the exhaustion, the chores and the care-taking of the brand new human. When my kids were babies my most favorite sound wasn’t their cooing, but the clatter of the garage door opening every evening. It meant my husband was home from work. Yahoo, the Calvary had arrived and I could hand off the baby and take a shower, take a nap or just hide out for 30 minutes.

Now, imagine if during this critical time your marriage was lover based instead of roommate focused. Your husband would come home from work ready to sweep you off your feet, take you into bed for a frisky romp. Yuck. That would mean you would have to get all pretty and by that I mean shave your legs or at the very least put on deodorant. Then you’d have to make sure your infant was asleep and not ready for another turn at the all you can eat boob buffet – good luck with that. And what woman after being sucked on all day by a newborn want’s to do it all over again with an adult who is very capable of taking care of himself, if you know what I mean. believe that makes it, at least in this case, advantage roommate.

Let us all now have a moment to rejoice and take pride in the unromantic marriage. A marriage built not on roses and passionate declarations of affection but on the ability to withstand the aggravation of a toilet seat being perennially left up. That is a marriage built to stand the test of time.

Snarky in the Suburbs

Middle aged, Uncool and Not Bringing Sexy Back

Category: Valentine’s Day