show | Unmotherly Insights

how modern women communicate with their men

A real life e-mail to my husband during tense economic times

Dear Mark,
While thinking about our financial difficulties this morning, I came up with a brilliant money making strategy. However, after much research, I’m sorry to report that there is not one single reality TV show I can apply to be on to increase our earnings. The only thing that even comes close is one for you. “Husbands!!! Is your wife driving you nuts?” Want to try to get on the Marriage Ref, Seinfelds new show?

I’ve checked out everything from “Does your spouse wear a snuggie?” (What the hell’s a snuggie?) to “Have you recently come back from the dead?” There’s nothing for me. Seriously. It’s a real bummer. I’m not really a shopaholic. (Although I know you might argue that point). I’m not addicted to prescription pain meds. I’m not even recently divorced. I almost qualified for The Apprentice. But of course I missed the deadline by three months.

One show advertises “Feel you’re in over your head as a parent?” That one really speaks to me. But you have to live in Los Angeles County. You haven’t cheated on me recently, have you? There’s a new National talk show looking for spouses who’ve been cheated upon who have strong convictions on the subject. (I’d kind of guess that would be all of them, wouldn’t you?)

Would you characterize yourself as controlling? There’s an ad for women with husbands who try to control their every move.

Do you often muse to yourself that I’m just not the woman you married? There’s a show for you on that issue.

We don’t have a blended family. No inter-racial components. No step-kids. Shit. We’re the most uninteresting family in the universe.

There’s even a show for Moms addicted to energy drinks. Figures I gave up my Red Bull a few years ago.

Wait, here’s one. You are pretty hot. They’re looking for men as bold and good looking as the guys from Jersey Shore, that MTV show. You’re kind of old though. Too bad. How about this? “Spoiled Wives.” Do you think I’m a spoiled brat in need of constant manicures, pedicures and facials? Ok, don’t answer that. I’m not applying for that one. Too bad I’m so artistic. There’s a show for Interior decorators who are really interior desecrators. There’s even a show for women who own pawn shops.

I’m not a young veteran, don’t want to confront someone about their slutty facebook pictures, I’m not even interested in confronting your mistress. I’m certainly not the real life 40 year old virgin. And as far as I know you don’t have a compulsion to cover the furniture in plastic wrap. Do you by any chance still suck your thumb?

I’m not sure what “Cakemania” is, but if you’re obsessed with it or hooked on performance enhancing drugs, I have a shot at a couple of shows. I doubt I’m smarter than a 5th grader. And I’m too darn old to try out for the “real” weather girl for a new iPhone App.

Guess I’ll just go back to clipping coupons.

Frugally yours,
debra

Like many of you, I couldn’t wait to take my kids to see the movie “Up” last weekend. We rarely go to the movies as a family. Eli, my 5 year old, has sort of a movie phobia. (I think it’s the noise and darkness that freaks him out), and Levi, my 8 year old, couldn’t possibly be less interested in sitting in one place for 120 minutes watching a stagnant video screen. But, is as usually the case, I forget who we are and imagine that we’re an ordinary American family who loves the cinema and I cart us all out on opening day of a hot new movie only to be reminded that this is a totally futile exercise.

It started out kind of weird. This large short man in a too-tight jacket that wouldn’t quite button, got up on the stage at Cine Capri and welcomed us to the theatre. He made it a point to introduce the film and let us know that he was there for us should we have any issues or grievances during our time in the theatre. Then the half hour of previews began. The sound was so out of control loud that my kids started to freak out and rock catatonically as they covered their ears and screamed. Yikes. I immediately approached the large short man and insisted they lower the volume, which they did which kind of surprised me and shocked my friend completely. “Are you ever embarrassed to say anything?” she asked me. “No.” I casually replied. “And anyway, he invited me to share my opinion.”

The movie finally started at a decreased decibel level and within the first three minutes I started to sob uncontrollably. This was a sad film. Never mind the fact that it was animated, Pixar and supposedly for children, it was downright depressing. And since I’m obsessed with aging, grief and loss, it hit way too close to home for me. I pretty much proceeded to weep throughout the film.

By the time the terrifying Doberman appeared, I was starting to think that maybe this excellently crafted piece of cinema was not a kid’s flick. My little guy shrieked at the sight of the menacing dogs and it all went downhill from there. Through my tears I could see my older son fidgeting and my youngest was clinging to me as Carl struggled to save the bird and avoid canine catastrophe. Finally my boys couldn’t take it any longer. The fighting was too much, too scary, too realistic? Who knows what it was that set them over the edge. But whatever it was, they wanted out. My husband was really enjoying the film. So I happily volunteered to remove myself and the boys from the theatre.

We waited outside for the last 20 minutes, them shaken and terrified, me exhausted with tear-swollen eyes and a runny nose. Finally the rest of our party emerged from the show.
“So, how’d you like it?” I asked. “It was great,” they replied. “Not much of a kid’s movie,” I added. “No. I had heard it really wasn’t.” my husband responded. “Um…why didn’t you tell me that?” I inquired peevishly. “Well,” he continued, “you really wanted to see it and I wasn’t really sure…so I figured we’d give it a shot.”

“OK, here’s the rule for next time,” I chirped with a saccharine lilt, “Anyone who knows we’re about to embark on a potentially disastrous mission with our children is hereby obligated to say something BEFORE we actually do it. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he sheepishly smiled. “Oh, and by the way, I got tickets for all of us to go see ‘Monsters Vs. Aliens’ at the IMAX this weekend, how does that sound?”

I looked at him dubiously. “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

He just smiled and waltzed away.