My husband can't die.
I'd be screwed.
I informed him of this Epiphany and commanded that he NOT die before me.
I've spent a decent amount of time morbidly contemplating what I will do if I'm suddenly single.
Yes, THAT is where I'm going with this post.
No, I have not been thinking about my finances (well...maybe a little, 'cause I might need a job if I don't find myself some deaf and blind 96 year old sugar daddy), I've been thinking about the other aspects of my life sans Hubbypants.
I don't much like it actually.
It has become clear that should I find myself in the single meat market, I'll rapidly become a vegan (figuratively).
This insight is based on much observation, specifically that men my age are focused on women much younger than them. Men posses a unique ability that has them believing all women want them. For example, the balding-beer-bellied fifty-ish man still has enough bravado to believe he could "tap that" hot, blonde 25 year old barista at Starbucks - firmly believing the feeling is mutual.
How do they do that?
It must be some procreation cells in the brain left over from their knuckle dragging days that drives the need to populate the tribe....or some such nonsense.
Also, working against me is my ability to have facial expressions (which means I'm sans botox) and I am thus far un-siliconed.
Should I find myself in the dating market, I'd not only need to drop a gazillion pounds to fit into the MILF jeans, I'd also have to have "The Girls" (a.k.a. boobies - but I'm sure you knew that, boobies is just fun to say) relocated to more primo real estate under my chin. Believe it or not, they are much happier living next to my belly button - but a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
Then, I'd have to start on the botox injections in my face to smooth away any evidence that I've ever laughed or blinked or furrowed my brow. You know that means no more of the "mom look", but my kids are old enough to ignore me anyway, and that look doesn't work on the cats, so I guess I can put that out to pasture.
I will start practicing my 'new' laugh, the one that does not involve moving any of my facial muscles. I watched a woman do that in a restaurant the other evening. Fascinating.
I've noticed that men are drawn to high maintenance women. Is there a Dummies Guide for that?
My head is starting to hurt from the effort and expense of it all. Even if I were able to transform my exterior, I'm still....um...me.
Who is going appreciate my quirk, my wit and my imagination?
It would just be so much simpler if Hubbypants would outlive me.
Of course, I've also stipulated that in addition to outliving me, he must also remain married to me AND that he be happy about it.
Hey, does that sound a bit high maintenance to you?
Well, maybe I'm a bit more prepared than I thought for suddenly singledom.
It's always nice to have a plan.
If you read this, Dear Hubbypants, and if you love me as much as you claim then spare me the humiliation.
If not, then please increase the insurance payout so that I can afford all the food that I'll be buying when I become the Crazy Cat Lady.
And I thought I was going to be the Crazy Cat Lady. That's pretty much my plan if something happens to my hubby - lots and lots of cats. As always, you made me laugh - out loud. I refuse to say LOL. Oh wait, I just did...And yes, it's fun to say boobies.ReplyDelete
lmaoooo OMG I LOVE YOU!!!! but, in all honesty, if Gene dies before I do, I'll just be the crazy lady that yells at everyone to stop feeding the damn stray cats!!!ReplyDelete
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