Saturday, June 19, 2010

Not Exactly Desperate

I've loved Desperate Housewives ever since the beginning.  Scandal, short skirts and high heels, all in the confines of white picket fences....who can resist?  I think it's hilarious how they all have their nails done, their toes done, their hair done, their face done just to go to their next door neighbours house to play cards.  And every new neighbour is greeted with freshly baked muffins in a cute little basket. 

My neighbour brought over some socks and sunscreen for Q in a cardboard box the other day.  Socks are not as fabulous as muffins.  And I was a little bit insulted to tell you the truth.  Do I look like I can't afford socks for my child?  Was the sunscreen a hint?  He wears sunscreen.  All the time, thank you very much.  But "Al" gets them free at work all the time, so who was I to say no?  This leads me to another question.  Who gets socks and sunscreen as perks?  I mean, I get a fabulous benefits package, and discounts for cell phone plans, and a pension...but socks?  Never.  I wonder where "Al" works.

Our new little street is on a cul-de-sac.  To the right is an older European couple.  They seem very nice.  She chain smokes on the porch.  She's the one I hope will take pity on me and smuggle me a contraband cigarette through the fence. 

Behind us is Johnny.  Johnny's a big black lab.  He comes to visit us every now and again.  Usually by pushing his 100lb frame through the fence.  He's chewed well over $50.00 of Q and Molly's toys over the past few months.  And if he comes over, I'm supposed to say, "Johnny, go home."  Usually, I'll let Molly chase him around for a bit and then point over the fence and say, "Johnny, go home..."  He sticks his tail between his legs and goes home.  I laugh every single time, wishing Molly were half as obedient as Ol' Johnny.

To our left is the aforementioned Al - as in Alfred, and his nosy wife Ervina.  (BTW, nice names, huh?!!)  Ervina watches out her windows, so she knows everything that goes on in our backyard, and front yard, and everyone else's for that matter.  She can talk for hours about nonsense, and she knows everything.  Everything about gardening and cooking and raising children and marriage and world peace and well, you get the idea.  And she's a real Witch, with a capital B.  She barks orders at poor lil Alfred, and if he doesn't hop to it fast enough, she'll yell another command with an insult just to make a point.  I had the fabulous honour of seeing Alf without his shirt on the other day, and okay, okay...he's not Brad Pitt or David the least...but do you have to be soooo mean, Ervina?  Really? 

Beside Alf and Ervina is another two car, one child doubly happy family.  Again, the smug marrieds.  He's balding salt and pepper and she's lululemon and running shoes.  With a poodle named Maya.  They just annoy me for being. 

Both Ervina and Maya's mommy don't like me.  They don't speak to me.  They speak to my mom, they smile and wave.  They ignore me.  Unless their husbands are around, and then they are really, super me and their husbands. Their husbands are really friendly when their wives aren't around, and ignore me when their wives are hovering. 

I kind of get this little jealous feeling in the pit of my stomach when I see these smug marrieds.  They seem to have it all figured out.  They seem to have it all.  The whipped husband who's home to cut the grass on Saturday morning and take their sons to baseball on Sunday morning.  The cute kids and the froofy dog.   And they're just so damn smug around me.  With their high-waisted mom jeans and running shoes, their frizzy hair, and their perma-frowns...I know, I know....what's to be jealous of, right?

That's what got me to thinking...

Who cares the how's or the why's of these women's marriages.  Would I want it?  Would I really want a man who is balding and has a beer belly?  Would I really want a man who allows me to insult him and command him to do things without standing up for himself?  No surprises?  No excitement?  No, I really, really wouldn't.  I wouldn't want a yappy little poodle or a red minivan either.

I know that part of the reason why they look at me the way they do, is probably because they're a little jealous of me.  I don't have to wake up to the same man every single day for the rest of my life.  I don't have to make sure dinner is on the table for my husband every single day.  I don't have to drive a red minivan.  I think they think I want their husband.  I think that's why they watch me from the corner of their eye and from their windows. 

I don't want their husbands.  I want my own husband.  I want my own happy ending.  I don't want theirs.  And if ever I need reminding, I just have to remember what Alfred looks like without his shirt on.


Not quite Wisteria Lane.  Not exactly Desperate Housewives. 

This is Watson Court. 

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