Trophy Wife

Sometimes I dream about being a trophy wife. I wonder how that would feel?

I was thinking about it today as I was painting my bathroom. I was standing on the Little Giant (that my husband bought from an infomercial on TV). I was standing on the Little Giant, trying to balance one foot on the ladder and one foot in various other positions from the corner of the bathtub to the window sill and I was thinking, "I wonder what it would be like to be a trophy wife?" I bet I wouldn't be balancing on the Little Giant painting my bathroom ceiling. That's what I bet.

I have to listen to music while I paint. I'd also prefer to be drinking a cold beer but it's the afternoon and a little early to hit the sauce. So I'm cranking classic rock, aka the music I grew up listening to. Floyd. Pink Floyd that is. "You can't have any pudding if you don't eat yer meat. " I don't know exactly what Mr. Floyd was relating but I do know those words evoke a scene from Oliver. A grim existence.

Intermittently my son is appearing in the bathroom to show me magic tricks he's learned on YouTube. It all started with Criss Angel Mindfreak. Now there's a man who will have a trophy wife. God knows why, but that's another story.

My son loves Criss Angel so he started watching him on YouTube and then he started looking for videos about magic tricks and VOILA that's how we got to where we are now - me poised precariously on this ridiculous ladder and my son popping his head in from time to time to show me a new trick. Some are better than others but he's at a disadvantage, because from my position on the ladder I can see pretty clearly most of the sleight of hand he is attempting. But I act like I'm baffled until he returns again to show me a new one. Short of the coin dropping straight to the ground from its hiding place, I am going along with the show.

I guess it doesn't occur to my son that I'm sweating profusely having chosen a humid, midday start time for painting. I'd avoided it most of the day until I had no choice. In fact, it started raining almost the very minute I stopped painting. I'm up on a ladder, sweating, holding on for dear life and he wants me to stop for "just a minute" to watch magic tricks.

At any rate, back to my original question. What's it like to be a trophy wife? I don't think they paint bathroom ceilings. Of course, they must spend at least twice as much time in the gym as I do. Unless she is a trophy wife from New Jersey. If the Housewives of New Jersey are any indication, I am already a trophy wife.

If I were a trophy wife, the nanny would be watching magic tricks. I'd be at the gym with Steve my personal trainer. Chef would be preparing a delicious, light meal for dinner. Maybe I'd go shopping or stop in for a frappucino in my cute as can be Mercedes.

If I were a trophy wife I'd promise to be a lot better behaved than any of the Real Housewives. And I'd find some nice little person to stand on that ladder and paint, paint, paint.



At this very minute my son is watching a magic trick involving a Mexican centavo. I'm pretty sure I'll be asked to find a Mexican centavo sometime in the next 5 minutes.