Too Old for a Midlife Crisis Part 2

Too Old for a Mid-Life Crisis;

Too Young for Medicare

Part II

   My neighbor Stella had been talking to Babs. When she found out what a bust the advice in my last self-help book, “If You’re Okay, Who Cares?” by Baba Louie was, she got in on the act.
  “You’re too uptight,” she said. “Have you read “The Donna Reed Syndrome” by Deanna Dixon?”

  According to Ms. Dixon, a housewife should make her husband feel special when he comes home at night. Bring him his slippers, pipe and a drink. Have the newspaper ready. Make sure to have his supper on the table. “It’ll change your life!” Stella promised.

  I borrowed her book and spent the rest of the afternoon absorbing the ideal ‘50s housewife philosophy.

  That very night when Derek got home I had his supper on the table and his pipe and slippers next to his favorite chair. I would have tried bribing the children to disappear to their rooms if they hadn’t beaten it there before we finished eating. Those kids have more accoutrements in their rooms than families in most third world countries.

  Alone at last, I attempted to put his slippers on.

   “What are you doing?” he eyed me suspiciously.

  “I’m bringing you your pipe and slippers. And see, I have your newspaper folded to the sports section.” I tried again.

  “What did you do?” Derek asked.

  “What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

  “What’s with the Donna Reed routine?”

  “Nothing! I’m just trying to be a good wife,” I smiled.

  “Have you been reading those self-help books again?”

  Ignoring his accusations, I attempted to light his pipe.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.

  I looked around. “What?”

  “I don’t smoke,” he replied dryly.

  The next day as Melba and I were stuffing envelopes for our favorite charity, Backpack for School Kids fundraiser, I told her about my attempts at being the ‘perfect housewife’.

  “I tried all the steps in Deanna Dixon’s book but I don’t seem to be getting anywhere,” I lamented.    “All it did was make him suspicious.”
  “Have you read “The Enlightened Woman” by Gloria Stenfeld? She says that women today are stifled by men and need to work on becoming more independent.”

  On the way home from picking up the book at the library, Derek called to remind me to have the oil changed in the car, pick up his dry cleaning and don’t forget to pay the light bill!

  Boy! Forget to pay the light bill JUST ONCE and they never let you hear the end of it. I guess he wasn’t buying that I purposely turned everything off to ‘set the mood.’

  Okay, so now I was ready to be an Enlightened Woman!

  Settling on the couch with my bonbons and cola, I was ready to learn.

  Step 1: Refuse to be submissive to your spouse and kids.

  Step 2: Demand the attention you deserve.

  Step 3: Dress in your sexiest lingerie and make him beg (your spouse, not your kids!)

  That night when Derek got home, I was ready! With the kids in their bedrooms being electronically entertained and armed with my newfound knowledge of being an enlightened woman, I waited for the right moment. I raced up the stairs to the bedroom, put on my sexiest nightgown (the one without the holes and ripped hem) and waited.’

  “Hello, handsome,” I growled, trying to sound husky, like Lauren Bacall. Posing myself on the bed, I waited for him.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, looking confused. “Got a cold?”

  “No,” I purred, “Come to bed.” I patted his side of the bed.

  “What’s that smell?” he said, sniffing my neck.  

  “You like it?”

  “Smells like cookies. Do we have any?”

  Sigh!

  Flipping on my night light, I skipped to the survey in the back of the book.

  Giving yourself 10 points for each correct answer, rate your relationship.

  You and your spouse are at the movies. Does he put his arm around you to (a) give you a hug or (b) reach for the popcorn?

  Your spouse comes home unexpectedly in the middle of the afternoon. Do you (a) rush upstairs and change into your sexiest lingerie or (b) leave the kids with him to attend a Tupperware party.

  If your spouse is nibbling on your ear, do you (a) reciprocate or (b) ask him to check the lump on your neck?

  That was enough. I knew what the score was. It was official. I’m a housefrou.

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