I
saw a young woman the other day, pushing a baby in a stroller and
zombie-listening as her older child firebombed her with chatter. She was pretty, but her hair was greasy, she had zero makeup on and she was wearing tattered sweatpants that made it impossible to tell (or care)
whether she had a great body or a monstrous, goiter-riddled one.
I realize she may have been getting over the flu. She may
have been up all night tending to her colicky baby. She
may have been heading home to get ready for her job as
manager of Trump Towers while the nanny prepared snacks for the
children and then, as instructed, set fire to the slippers-n-sweats costume her boss wore to the Trump Towers Hobo Party that
morning.
But I doubt it.
My guess is that she has slipped into the "I know he loves me so I don't have to shave anymore" zone.
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SPOTTED NEAR K-W: THIS WOMAN
HAS ENTERED "THE ZONE."
I don't care if it's hot enough to boil toads,
it is NEVER acceptable to appear in public
in your friggin' bra. I mean really.
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This
is a dangerous place, this zone. It is a place where many married women stray in
the misguided belief that they are safe, believing love means never
having to wear a black teddy, a red thong or any of the other sexy items
they used to wear but now leave to the single girls and whores.
Ladies, let me tell you, you are wrong.
You know the expression: "Marry them and they turn into pigs?"
It's cruel because it's true.
If you don't believe me, ask yourself how many times you've seen a
woman drop 20 pounds and colour her hair the second she gets a
divorce. Women
know there's no way they can hit the market looking like 10
pounds of ugly in a five-pound bag. No man in his right mind would want
that.
So why do we expect our "true love" to want it?
Yeah
yeah, I know: looks shouldn't matter, he loves me not
my boobs and stilettos, et cetera et cetera. And I'm sure he does.
But why shouldn't he get to see the thong-flashing vixen he fell in love with once in awhile?
I mean, if that girl never makes an appearance again, it was kind of false advertising, wasn't it?
It's
like a man saying, "Hi, I'm Johnny Depp. Marry me and you'll get Johnny
Depp for the rest of your life!" and then six months later,
Johnny lets Al Bundy take over . . . and thinks you should be okay with
that.
What I'm saying is there is no shame
in keeping yourself up a bit. Stop telling yourself you gave
him children, so the extra 30 pounds that hung
around afterwards are part of the deal. Stop pretending you're too
busy to walk some of that off, that good mothers don't wear red lace and
have hot sex. And for God's sake, stop pretending people go blind once they get married.
Get yourself a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey, get your hair and nails did and start looking like the woman you want to be treated like.
Your husband might love you just as much if you don't. But he'll probably love you more often if you do.
