The Trophy Wife Resolution

I Should Be Dead

2012-02-07T17:16:00.002-05:00

From childhood through my early adult years, I was infamous for my Twinkie consumption. The crinkle of a Twinkie wrapper would cause my childhood cat to wake from her vegetative state to chomp on the other end. The cat lost all of her teeth by age four. After swimming my worst time at a high school meet, my male swim coach stormed into the girls' locker room after receiving a not-so anonymous tip. Five boxes of Twinkies fell out of my locker on his head. I was threatened with getting kicked off the team and banned from the Hostess factory across the street. Shabby Chic, who was the president of our college's Hillel, had misgivings about keeping an unopened box of Twinkies in our shared room after debating whether they were kosher for Passover. Instead of flowers or chocolates, I was much happier to receive a box of Twinkies for Valentine's Day that was inscribed, "To the sweetest cake I know."

Of course, when the Alpha Male and I started seriously dating, eating Twinkies as if they were a major food group was a potential deal breaker. Although he gave me a White Trash Cookbook earlier, our discussion eventually became analogous to a relationship conversation between a smoker and non-smoker.

"I can't really see myself spending the rest of my life inhaling Twinkies," said Alpha Male.

Obviously, I chose the Alpha Male, which was a wise choice for many reasons. In Tara Parker Pope's New York Times article with Steve Ettlinger, author of the book “Twinkie, Deconstructed,” here's direct evidence that Twinkies are probably more hazardous to human health than any nuclear meltdown or living in North Korea:

Question: What ingredients used in Twinkies most surprised you?
Answer: Vitamins. I didn’t have a clue where they came from, but I suspect that, like me, many people think that they are squeezed from seeds or extracted from bark or something like that. I found they were, by and large, made from petroleum and fermented in enormous industrial plants mostly in China. To find out that a lot of my vitamins, and in particular the B vitamins in enriched flour that are in a Twinkie, were made from Chinese petroleum just blew my mind.

Vitamins extracted from Chinese petroleum? How am I still alive? Somehow, the Alpha Male saves me again.

Stay Tuned...

2012-01-17T14:18:00.002-05:00

2011 ended with insanity and 2012 is starting with some more. Will be catching up shortly with some of the following:

* Naomi's Wolf's Beauty Myth Really Should Have Been About Ken, Not Barbie.
* White Girls Shouldn't Zumba
* Mother Theresa's Car Heist
* Trophy Wife Goes to Iceland

And much more! Thanks for reading!

Day of Reckoning

2011-09-15T18:13:00.004-04:00

I come from a long line of people who have made pharmaceutical companies rich due to their polite negligence of useful medical advice. I admit that I have followed somewhat in suit.

After seeing me for five years, my doctor has become accustomed to setting aside 10 of the 15 allotted minutes of my appointment for my chief complaints. Ten minutes of whining is significant when you consider what a good job my doctor does cutting me off at the pass:

Me: I think I'm going through early menopause.

Doctor: Seriously? You're not even 40.

Me: I've been getting more headaches and some migraines during my period. I'm also getting moodier.

Doctor: What else is new? (She types a prescription for migraines into the computer.)

Aside from the usual whining this year about why I gained an extra five pounds and shrunk another half inch, I expected my annual doctor visit to be unremarkable. As I reported earlier, I'm eating healthier by consuming more vegetables from the cooperative farm. A recent bone density scan showed that the osteopenia in my right hip has resolved, as a probable result of my daily vitamin D supplementation. My blood test results were all within normal limits. My cookie consumption has also decreased by 70% (since I need to account for the extra ice cream).

With such strides, I thought I'd get out of the appointment in ten minutes since it took me half the time to complain. Until my doctor announced:

"You're on the verge of becoming diabetic."

Now imagine a middle-aged white, freckle-faced Jewish mom with a fro sitting wrapped in a napkin gown doing her best Different Strokes' Gary Coleman impression.

Whatcha talking about Willis?

Apparently, my fasting blood sugar numbers have been increasing 20 points per year over the past three years. My blood sugar was also fifteen points away from being considered borderline diabetic. Oh and did I mention that my cholesterol is at 140?

Damn cookies.

After receiving a harangue about how I need to space out my feedings and cut down on the sugar, it's obvious the Trophy Wife Resolution really needs to be taken seriously. My quality of life depends on it.

$9 Call Girl

2011-07-09T10:56:00.002-04:00

After maintaining a sleep diary for two months and trying to battle insomnia with her daily dose of 3 mg of melatonin, the Jewish Mutha felt it was time for me to make good on my end of the bargain. With school out, the kids, the Harvard Valedictorian, and I trekked to New Jersey.

During our time there, the Alpha Male and I were able to sneak out for dinner at a restaurant we used to frequent when we lived in Edgewater, New Jersey. Heaven back then was having a place to eat within a 3 minute walking distance that offered good food and ambience, allowing us to comfortably escape our newborn parenting responsibilities for an hour.

Since I have a reputation for being perpetually late, the Alpha Male reminded me that I should make every effort to be on time. To do so, I did not have time to put on any make-up. I threw on the only outfit that wasn't drenched in animal hair.

Although the Alpha Male was traveling from several states away, he developed amnesia about what it was like to travel in summer rush hour traffic into New York's Port Authority on a Friday. Needless to say, when I arrived 10 minutes early, he called to let me know he'd be at least an hour late.

At that point, my only option was to be the first person to sit at the bar drinking a white russian and to blankly watch the Ryan O'Neil and Farrah Fawcett story without sound. About 15 minutes later, a 60-something well-dressed man sat a seat away from me. A few minutes more went by and he asked, "How much?"

I looked at my drink and said, "I assume that it's about $9."

"That's it?," he asked, raising the white caterpillars above his eyes.

"That appears to be the going rate this days," I replied.

"OK. Let's go," he said getting up from his chair.

It dawned on me: He thought I was a prostitute.

I raised my ringed finger (when I probably should have given him my middle one in retrospect), and said, "I'm not going anywhere."

Embarrassed, he slid two seats over, ordered a hamburger and tried to eat as fast as possible.

The female bartender, who witnessed the entire exchange, slid me another white russian. She said, "Sweetheart, this one is on the house."

Another guy out of MTV's Jersey Shore -- about my middle age -- wound up sitting next to me. He didn't start talking to me until this trio from "Jersey's hood" started a game of quizzing what New Jersey songs we should request from the piano player.

About an hour and a half later, the Alpha Male walks in to see me drinking and conversing with the Jersey hood. He walked over to the bar, gently grabbed my arm to steer me away and asked, "Getting re-acquainted with the locals, I see?"

I told him it was his lucky night. He scored the $9 call girl.

When the Nurse Needs a Nurse

2011-06-07T20:55:00.001-04:00

I ran a 5K "Fun Run" with the Alpha Male, Hermione Granger and the 4th Stooge. After the first mile, the Alpha Male took my backpack of nurse supplies. I didn't even put up a fight. So much for me being the volunteer nurse at the race. The help needed help.

After 1.5 miles, he hoisted the 4th Stooge on his shoulders and ran the rest of the race like that.

At the second mile mark, the Alpha Male -- who was able to talk like a normal peson while I was heaving agonal gasps -- said, "I don't understand why you sign up for these races. You never train for them and then wonder why you aren't fast."

I was too breathless to respond.

Yet, Hermione Granger, Alpha Male and I ran the whole way. And we finished in second to last place.

We celebrated our meek victory by turning into carnivores and splurging at Outback.

All was well and good until I woke up the next morning. I might as well as have developed rheumatoid arthritis in my sleep as I could barely move. The Harvard Valedictorian is going to have start walking me if I'm going to ready for the 5 mile race in July.

My Six Degrees of Separation with Fame

2011-06-03T22:47:00.001-04:00

If you've read through my Cast of Characters, you know I don't hang out with high society. Yet, like any Trophy Wife in training, my brushes with celebrities could make for their own sitcom:

The Alpha Male and his siblings went to high school with Jon Gosselin. His family continues to lives doors down from Gosselin's relatives.

Before he became somewhat infamous and had to change his name, I was mentored by the best-selling author of JFK Jr.'s "portrait."

One of my childhood best friends appeared on Ellen DeGeneres. After announcing how Ellen had helped her come "out" a lesbian, she became a man several years later.

I worked on the hospital maternity ward that delivered a famous Hollywood family's baby. Later, my high school best friend married into that Hollywood family.

One of my college best friends beat American Idol's Ryan Seacrest in a senior class president election. I expect to see my friend running for political office soon.

Mick Jagger's hair stylist officiated my Mensa Sister's marriage.

I sat next to Emmanuel Lewis on an airline as he explained his "short" career revival strategy.

Yet, my latest encounter happened accidentally, as it often does, while I was watching my latest guilty pleasure, Pregnant in Heels. The show profiles wealthy women who have too much disposable income and ask Rosie Pope -- British maternity concierge extraordinaire who delivers much needed humbling advice with just the right amount of condescension to get narcisstic people to listen to her lisp -- for help with everything from branding their baby's name to taking nude photos of pregnant women in Central Park.

Not surprisingly, I knew Rosie Pope's charity case in Episode 5. The rocker mom and I go way back...

"You should be so grateful you wound up with me. Your life could have been a lot of different," the Alpha Male snarked.

I am grateful. And he's right.

I was almost a member of the rocker mom's family.

However, I'm still grateful to the rocker mom for going with me to a Tori Amos concert when no one else would. I am also genuinely happy for her and her family. I knew her when she was beginning her singing career and I'm glad she finally received some TV exposure, even if she had to handle Rosie Pope's patronizing comments.

In upcoming news: I run a 5K tomorrow! I haven't trained. To make matters more interesting, I'm the volunteer nurse. Stay tuned!

"You Clean Up Nice"

2011-06-02T16:06:00.001-04:00

After returning from a great Memorial Day Weekend trip in Ogunquit, Maine (thanks to a suggestion from my Life Partner), I was left with an undone mountain of laundry.

I picked up the only clean wearable item in my draw. It was a fading red $14 one-piece Old Navy dress that I bought about 10 years ago. I added a necklace with red stones that could have been found in a backyard and black sandals. I didn't even bother wearing a bra to hold in my newly diagnosed Cs http://trophywiferesolution.blogspot.com/2011/02/psyched-to-score-c.html.

Not exactly haute couture.

As the 4th Stooge and I were shopping at the pretentious Whole Foods, an acquaintance who forgot my name (but I knew hers), said, "My, you're all dressed up. You must be going to a party."

"No. It was just the only clean thing I could find that wasn't on my floor today," I replied. "But, thanks for the compliment."

She consciously ignored me as we walked past her in the other aisles and the 4th Stooge proceeded to walk around the store with his shirt on backwards.

The 4th Stooge's preschool teacher also asked if I was going to a party today. When I laughed and told him he was the second person to ask that question, he replied that he hardly ever makes such comments.

Obviously, I don't get out much. And I probably need to start dressing better.

Good news to report: By a stroke of good luck, we got a slot in the new CSA -- a local cooperative farm that where we'll be able to pick up fresh vegetables weekly. It should save me from the weekly Whole Foods runway fashion fiascoes.

The Accidental Padawan

2011-06-01T14:41:00.004-04:00

Obtaining any level of car maintenance always proves to be the bane of my existence. Next to New York City real estate agents, Brutus and Judas, I imagine car mechanics wind up in the Inner Circle.

Throughout my life, I have probably spent more time dealing with automotive issues than I have in taking care of myself. From driving more than 20 hours to fetch my car "Christine" in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina after my college spring break to waiting weeks in smelly waiting rooms that I can never get back for a simple automotive repair, I have not have much luck with cars. At 18 months of age, the 4th Stooge threw a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a car mechanic's face after the mechanic started yelling at me because I refused to pay $125 for the 4 hour car battery installation. Lightning has also hit me while I was driving a car.

Today, I went into my local Jiffy Lube to get a simple oil change. I brought the Good Calories, Bad Calories book and began to read the 500 plus pages. There were two available seats next to me. The rest were taken.

While I was reading, a young guy comes in and sits down right next to me, not following (or caring) about the unwritten social rule of maintaining personal space when possible.

Suddenly, he looks at the TV and begins talking loudly about how electrical dog fences should be used on kids since we use leashes on them anyway. He admits to not having any children.

I quietly prayed that he does not reproduce.

As I'm trying to get through the prologue of the book, he asks, "What are you reading?"

I silently showed him the cover.

"Wow. I couldn't imagine reading a book with so many pages. I think I'd burn up all my calories just reading that."

Wishful thinking.

He interpreted my weak smile as a green light to continue. "So what do you do for a living?"

I told him that I was a nurse and a writer (someone outside of cyberspace does pay me to do so for a paltry living).

"Wow! Maybe I should think about doing that. I took some journalism courses. Hey, what do you think of my comedy act? I made you smile," he replied.

"Where do you perform your comedy acts?" I asked, making a mental note to make sure that I skip that show.

He mentions a nearby town.

"You need to take your act somewhere else. That's a tough town," I reply in a deadpan voice.

"You're funny! You should be in comedy!," he says genuinely. "But, you're right. I need to know my audience. That is great advice!," he replied enthusiastically.

"Where are you from?"

"New York," I answered, thinking he might get the subtle hint that my kind isn't particularly keen on talking with strangers.

"You came all the way here to get an oil change? Ha! Ha! Anyway, this is the last oil change for my car. It's on its last legs. I'll probably donate it to kids. But, what do kids need with an old car anyway?," he thought.

"Sell it for parts," I replied.

"That's a great idea! You are full of them!," he answers. "Hey, do you have an extra coupon?," he said pointing to the extra one I was using as a bookmark.

"Sure, here it is," I handed it over to him.

"I learned so much from you today..." and then the store manager said my car was ready.

I quickly jumped up. The Accidental Padawan was left talking to himself.

A Little Help From Alpha Male's Friends

2011-05-31T11:02:00.004-04:00

Like the Alpha Male, my husband's friends never shy from giving me unsolicited advice. Not surprisingly, the Alpha Male's European twin, also known as The General, shared his recent story about losing weight and training for the Boston Marathon. (A pre-requisite for any encounter with The General is a required read of latest issue of The Economist cover-to-cover.)

Like the Alpha Male, The General's work and family life involve sporadic sleep schedules and over-indulging in too many carbo-filled client dinners. He read the book Good Calories, Bad Calories by Gary Taubes, which changed his life. Not only did he lose 50 pounds in three months, he was able to train and get in enough shape in six months to transform from a sedentary lump into finishing a 26 mile race.

Apparently, the book changes conventional wisdom about how much fat we should be eating. While the book seems to have an Atkins diet feel to it, I'm personally skeptical from the onset as any diet based heavily on meat doesn't seem particularly healthy considering corn feed is forced into most animals that weren't designed to eat it.

I attempted to challenge The General on this point and we did not get very far. We wound up verbally running in circles debating if our hunter and gatherer ancestors ate more hunted meat or gathered vegetables. Luckily, The General's wonderful wife brought out the most delicious grilled vegetables with balsamic vinegar to redirect us from an unprovable debate. Since I find the General a worthy debater, I'll read the book and submit a decision about whether I'll be trying Mr. Taubes' tact.

Alpha Male's high school friend and his wife, who happens to be a dermatologist, also visited us recently. The Dermatologist bestowed wonderful free samples she picked up at her medical meeting in town. Never one to turn down a freebie or feel shame for asking for free medical advice, I thanked her and proceeded to show her the luggage under my eyes that could carry enough junk to circle the Earth twice. Other than plastic surgery, I inquired what could treat it. Thinking she would recommend a high-priced product or laser solution, she said, "Try Neutrogena. Anything with retinol should help."

I'm currently on the Neutrogena Anti-Wrinkle cream for $20 for a 2-pack at BJ's. I've been using it for about 2 weeks and it seems to work well on the face, keeping the laugh and crow lines at bay. However, the eyes are still carrying a lot of crap underneath. My dermatologist friend sent ROC also, so I'll be trying that next month.

Why Every Woman Needs a Homosexual Man

2011-05-03T17:06:00.002-04:00

Sometimes a woman -- straight or gay -- needs a homosexual man more than a straight one. For instance, the Best Pal I Made Gay called me first thing this morning from several states away after reading my latest blog post about my poor first quarter Trophy Wife results.

"Honey, I'm coming up for an intervention!"

I was warned that the Best Pal I Made Gay would be supervising a day of me at the salon. He told me to put Alpha Male -- my husband -- on notice that he'll need to watch our spawn for at least ten hours. A tentative date for July has been set.

Sounds dangerous...

First Quarter Results Are In...

2011-04-27T13:43:00.003-04:00

and they are not looking good.

Poundage: I regained every pound I started this year with plus one this past week.

Teeth: Although my teeth did turn a shade whiter from the Crest White Strips, I still have one strip left in the box. It took me more than 2 months to implement the 2 week teeth whitening, rabies-inducing regimen.

Exercise: The exercise videos have have been quietly collecting dust, as if they are trying to participate in a conspiracy cover-up.

Excuse? I don't have one. I could make something up, but there's really no reason for not getting off my tush.

The first quarter good news is:
1. Even if it's not working for me, the blog seems to be motivating other people. Outside of cyberspace, friends and the Jewish Mutha have filled me in on ways they are taking better care of themselves. The Jewish Mutha even got the referral for her sleep apnea test. She may just get a week with her grandchildren at the Villa Villekula.
2. I've finally found a great skin cream that works wonders. Of course, it comes directly from Iceland's Blue Lagoon. It is worth every penny, especially if you live in a harsh, wintry climate that sucks the moisture and soul out of your skin. It has even replaced the Alpha Male's pet store brand. I highly recommend the Blue Lagoon's Mineral Intensive Cream, which can be found at: Mother's Day is coming up so consider it a worthwhile gift.
3. We are eating healthier foods. Although my food budget has increased significantly, we've made a family decision that we are going to pay for it now with healthy foods instead of later with expensive health care and irreversible chronic illness down the line. Seeing Food Inc. and reading the Omnivore's Dilemma have further convinced me that I just can't eat food that is processed with byproducts from Agent Orange.

4. I have found a new mentor, whose blog I will be featuring shortly.

I'm planning to get back on track with writing and my progress. Now that the weather is getting warmer, the Harvard Valedictorian will be taking me out for more walks. There's also some business about going to Washington, D.C. to run in some race with the Best Friend and Hot Mama.

Thanks for hanging in there and I'll keep you posted!

My Belated April Fool's Joke on the Alpha Male

2011-04-20T10:32:00.003-04:00

Since I couldn't get my act together on April's Fools Day, here was the best prank I could muster up for the Alpha Male.

'The Economist' To Halt Production For Month To Let Readers Catch Up

(Click on title of blog post for article access.)

I need to get some new jokes.

In other news, many apologies for not writing more. I will be providing several status updates within the next two weeks.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

2011-03-31T13:42:00.001-04:00

It was my turn to host the 4th Stooge and the Little Rascals for a play date yesterday. While I was feeding the kids mac-and-cheese, the three 5 year old boys were discussing the age of their parents.

"My mom is 38," said Spanky.

"Guess how old my mom is?" asked the 4th Stooge.

"She must be at least 52," replied Spanky.

Truth be told: I am 2 years younger than Spanky's mom.

After my return from Iceland (details to follow), the Ides of March returned with a wanton vengeance. The plague that hit our house aged me a bit this month. Who knew it would add another 16 years?

I obviously need to get my act together.

Jewish Mutha Challenge

2011-03-23T21:22:00.001-04:00

My Jewish Mutha and Fatha were good enough to travel across five states to see us for a little more than 24 hours.

Although both of my children are repulsed by blood and do not have the stomach for a career in medicine, they now have a working knowledge of diabetes Type II, spinal stenosis, von Willebrand's disease, irritable bowel syndrome, bursitis, arthritis, and the latest: restless leg syndrome. As a result of my mother's medical history, I've learned to create a new box and check "All of the Above and To Be Determined" under family medical history diseases and conditions on my health forms.

After I heard about restless leg syndrome (a condition I'm sure that was contrived by the LA Law actor Corbin Bernsen to help resurrect his career), I felt the Jewish Mutha needed some motivation to help overcome her Jewish Mutha's Munchausen's syndrome. (Jewish Mutha Munchausen's Syndrome, which is still an evolving definition, is a disease or condition that can only be kvetched and perpetrated like no one else but a Jewish mother.)

Like me, I know my Jewish Mutha needs external motivation. Unlike me, she is a master at manipulating the means to achieve a different kind of end.

Case in point: A few years back, both of my parents hired a personal trainer to get in better shape. I thought it was a terrific idea until I noticed that the trainer stayed after their sessions to share a snack. Shortly afterwards, the snack turned into lunch. After awhile, we all looked forward to the trainer coming over because we could expect a seven course meal after his visit.

To help my mom alleviate the stresses of her many health complications, I knew I'd have to put her to a challenge. She likes a dare and like me, doesn't like to lose.

For years, I've suspected she has sleep apnea. She has all the classic symptoms: can't sleep well at night (she'll blame her herniated discs), fatigue during the day, gets up several times at night to use the bathroom, restless turning and tossing, and the cacaphony of sounds that accompany someone who can't sleep well. With all the research showing how a lack of sleep affects metabolism and can be a precursor for heart disease among a myriad of other complications, correcting sleep apnea is relatively easy fix for treating a lot of other issues, including restless leg syndrome.

The Jewish Mutha has until the end of the summer to get a sleep apnea test while her health insurance is still good. If she does so -- no matter what the tests reveal -- the kids and I will travel five states to spend the week at her Villa Villekulla (Note: see Pippi Longstocking).

"But, it won't cure me," she says. While that's true for now, there are many interventions available to help alleviate symptoms in the meantime. I want my kids to have their grandma around when the go to college and get married. I want her to not only have a long life, but also a long health span. After all, who else is going to listen to ME kvetch?

In the midst of this, the Jewish Fatha dispensed his newest trick for cleaning stainless steel appliances by using a few drops of baby oil on a rag. I will get back to you on that one.

Meeting up with an Old (Boy)Friend

2011-03-22T22:31:00.001-04:00

Every year during winter school vacation, we take a short trip to Newport, Rhode Island. As people who live by the water know, the best time to visit the beach is in the winter. We have a blast going to the Radio Disney shows, visiting the world's best balloon animals made by Ron Sergeant, and touring the Mansions. Hermione Granger has already developed a diabolical plan to buy out the Vanderbilt's Marble House from the preservation society.

This year, the family was going to meet my first high school (boy)friend and his wife. Although Alpha Male had met the old (boy)friend in the past, this was the first time in nine years since we had seen each other. As the old (boy)friend recalled, the last time was only days before the tragic 9/11, I was seven months pregnant, had successfully doubled my body weight and ate everything off both our plates in a restaurant.

Few things could spur me to want to look like a Trophy Wife in less than 24 hours than meeting an old boyfriend -- especially one who broke up with me by making me sit through the Frugal Gourmet for two hours before he decided to break the news.

However, I'll always be grateful that he was the first good-looking, smart, decent person able to see past a lot of appliances and crazy hair. It took a lot of scheming on part though, which included pretending I needed a *chemistry tutor* and planning my own *surprise* sweet 16. Peer pressure forced him to dance with me. My winning braces sealed the deal.

After the Frugal Gourmet Incident, I didn't speak to him for a year to lay on the Jewish Guilt really thick. A high school Newfoundland trip later, we became close friends again and have remained so ever since.

My plans to look like a Trophy Wife were foiled by trying to wrangle two children out of bed that morning. The 4th Stooge had an *accident* in the hotel bed and I tried to fumigate the room and Hazmat him down all before 9:00 a.m. When the old (boy) friend walked in the door, he hadn't changed since college.

My great excuse was 9 year old Hermione Granger dresses me. His wife bought it.

He didn't. He knows me better.

We got breakfast at a local diner and tried to catch up on the last decade in an hour. While they shared their world travels, I could tell the old (boy)friend was still shocked that I had spawned.

We departed by saying that we wouldn't allow another decade to pass. Next time, I'll try to brush my hair.

Next stop: Iceland!

Does The Super Moon Mean Doom? Maybe in Japan....

2011-03-18T13:16:00.001-04:00

It seems the apocalyptic visions of astrologists have come true in Japan. A Facebook friend posted that he heard the Rapture is upon us. Even the Jewish Mutha remarked that she can't remind having anything like this during her lifetime (Remember: She went to Woodstock and probably forgot all the bullying that occurred between Kennedy and Khrushev).

While I'm not about to believe that the world is ready to call it quits on humankind tomorrow with the impending Super Moon, my heart goes out to the poor souls in Japan. From those that are experiencing the devastation to the 300 brave souls working 24/7 around the clock dressed in suits held together with duct tape at the nuclear power plants, it's opportunity to share the best of humanity.

No matter how difficult our situation is in the U.S. with unemployment, foreclosures, health care crisis, such tragedies remind us someone always needs more help than you. Sadly, news reports are already pointing to the fact that Americans appear to be less generous than we were with Haiti earthquake. The U.S. has raised only half of the amount of money for Japan within the same time frame.

Like any good Trophy Wife, please consider donating even $5 to a reputable organization to contribute the cause. To donate to the American Red Cross visit www.redcross.org or text REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation.

The Hairdresser

2011-03-10T10:12:00.003-05:00

"To the only Jewish girl with an Afro," was written in my high school yearbook. Finding someone who can cut my hair has been a lifelong challenge.

Of course, only a cross between Edward Scissorhands and Jerry Springer will do.

The Hairdresser had a hacking cough when I arrived. I asked her if she was OK and she said, "Not really. I've got a nasty sinus infection." I asked her if she was taking antibiotics. She replied, "Yeah. I'm taking my dog's."

She then continued to fill me in on her latest drama. Three months ago when I last saw her, her boyfriend's brother was the victim of a homicide staged as a suicide. She told me how her boyfriend moved in and the ordeal that ensued.

When I asked her how she and he were coping, the Hairdresser replied," I threw him, his daughter and grandkid out two days after I saw you. His ex girlfriend told me he was cheating on me the whole time. What a loser." Her pit bulls were involved in his eviction.

As she relayed the sordid details and continued to hack, she told me how I should consider straightening my hair with a "natural formaldehyde" Keratin treatment. The only glitch is I'll have to be fully garbed in a Hazmat suit to get the treatment since formaldehyde is linked to cancer and birth defects in unborn fetuses.

Of course, The Hairdresser worked her magic. Now, let's just hope I can stay well enough before the Iceland adventure.

A Not So Trophy Wife Valentine's Day

2011-02-23T10:09:00.003-05:00

Since my life is dictated by people under age 18, which includes my own spawn and a handful of teen babysitters, our initial Valentine's Day plans were put to a screeching halt days before. The babysitter of the evening had better plans, which probably involved a fast car and a cute guy.

While I had initially planned to do something unconventional, which included taking the Alpha Male dog-sledding in a park nearby, I scored getting dinner and movie reservations at a local historical plantation last-minute. Sounds romantic?

Yeah, I thought so too.

I found another babysitter, who is fortunately the bookish type, knowing her chances of finding someone to hang out with other than her parents were probably as good as mine in high school.

Like always, we arrived more than fashionably late. We were seated at the last available table, which was positioned completely away from the more endearing elements of the room, such as the fireplace and soft lightning. Instead, we were positioned under a blaring spotlight and next to the harried kitchen staff.

Alpha Male felt we should have dressed better than his sport coat and my tops and pants.

After we wolfed down dinner since our waitress was politely encouraging us to move quickly, the movie selections offered were "Au Chocolat" and an independent film called "Tiny Furniture."

We opted for the indie since Alpha Male had already seen the other movie. He had warned me ahead of time that he was worried it would be a pretentious, self-important movie made by some twenty-something pseudo-intellectual who was living off her parent's wealth. Nothing is a bigger buzz kill for someone who reads the The Economist like the Fundamentalists read the Bible.

I advised that we should sit in the back row in case the movie became too "boring" so we could pretend we were teenagers again. Once Alpha Male saw the silver-haired set surrounding us, he advised that the best I could hope for myself was to sleep the movie out.

Unfortunately, the movie lived below the Alpha Male's minimum expectations. While I don't want to give any spoilers, I wouldn't have rented this movie at the library. It ranked up there with the movie "Magnolia," which only Mensa Sister understands. Other than two snarky lines given by the stereotypical New Yorker who wore only a bra for most of the feature, the trailer's critic comments about the movie being a "droll" sums it up without the other unnecessary adjectives.

When Alpha Male let out a hysterical laugh once the movie was finally over, I knew what that meant. When I came back to the house after dropping the babysitter off, he was already catatonic in bed.

No one accused me of being too hot on Valentine's Day.

Accused of Pregnancy

2011-02-18T22:36:00.000-05:00

I've been slacking this month. I've sneaked cookies, haven't been exercising and have probably been spending too much time working at the computer. It all caught up with me today when I got the Mother of all Critiques:

"You look pregnant. I bet you are," a mom said in one of the postpartum groups I teach with the Therapist at the women's fitness center today.

"No. I'm just fat," I replied.

Mortified, the mom voiced that she wanted to run out of the room. Trying to be a professional, I said, "Oh, I get that all the time being a maternity nurse. The baby walked out 5 years ago. It's just where your life is...etc.," and I quickly switched the conversation topic.

I can guarantee with almost 99% certainty that I'm not pregnant. If it were true, I would be carrying the Messiah.

I better get my act together before I venture out in a bathing suit before Iceland's Aryan Viking gods.

Anti-Aging Winners Announced

2011-02-17T09:24:00.002-05:00

Good Housekeeping just came out with their best anti-aging winner products. Most of them are under $50 and many you can find at places like Target instead of Trophy Wife Night parties (see post below). More info can be found at: http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/beauty/5-best-anti-aging-products-2391755/

Rolling Out the Cellulite

2011-02-16T14:12:00.002-05:00

Here are some skin care tips from Hollywood dermatologists. In addition to the tried-and-true cucumber and chamomile tricks, I'll keep you posted about how the rolling pin works on the cottage cheese growing on my thighs.

Below is a video using a foam roller since you can't find too many people wanting to demonstrate how to use a rolling pin on cellulite even on YouTube:

Perfect-Skin Secrets From Hollywood's Best Derms and Facialists
By Julie Giusti, Allure.com

Red-carpet interviews. Fashion police. Acceptance speeches. Award-show season can be full of drama for celebrities, and when the envelope is opened and the camera zooms in for a reaction shot, the last thing anyone wants to show the world is less-than-perfect skin. Here, Hollywood skin-care experts share their tips for tackling the most common skin problems.

Having a makeup artist—and yoga instructor and personal chef—at your beck and call may be the best way to guarantee glowy skin, but barring that, Los Angeles facialist Ole Henriksen recommends an at-home peel. "Smoking, excess alcohol, too much powder, or even a moisturizer that's not hydrating enough can lead to dull skin," says Henriksen, who has worked with actress Charlize Theron. Start fresh by removing dead skin cells with an at-home peel, like his Micro Mini Peel System ($95), once a week, or the Avon Anew Clinical Advanced Retexturizing Peel ($25) at bedtime. Then slather on a rich moisturizer, such as Shiseido Future Solution LX Daytime Protective Cream SPF 15 ($240).

Stop Shining

Nothing catches the light of a thousand paparazzi flashbulbs like shiny skin. It may sound counterintuitive, but the best way to fight oily skin is with more oil, says Beverly Hills facialist Sonya Dakar. "Starving your skin with harsh cleansers and oil-free moisturizers will only make it overproduce more and give you a shiny face." She recommends Sonya Dakar Buriti Oil Cleanser ($59), followed by a light moisturizer. (We like Garnier Nutritioniste Moisture Rescue Refreshing Gel-Cream, $7.99.) Another option: Tatcha Blotting Papers ($12) remove excess oil without shifting your makeup or leaving behind a bunch of residue.

Choosing the right pair of Louboutins to go with your dress can be stressful—and we all know stress can lead to zits. "The most important thing to remember is to not touch the pimple. If you have time, see your dermatologist for a cortisone shot," advises Ava Shamban, assistant clinical professor of dermatology at UCLA. If you get a last-minute eruption, "combine aspirin and water to create a paste, and apply it to breakouts." Hide acne with makeup that's designed for acne-prone skin, like Cover FX ($42).

For his Hollywood clients who wish to banish dark circles, Henriksen recommends lymphatic drainage. The light massage stimulates the under eye area and promotes oxygenation and hydration, which will alleviate darkness. Need an instant fix? Olay Definity Eye Illuminator ($25.99) instantly brightens the under eye area with mica particles and strengthens it with powerful hydrators.

Hearing the fans call your name may make you blush, but skin can look ruddy for a number of reasons: rosacea, stress, heat, or a basic propensity for flushing, which is common in women with fair skin. The key is to be gentle. Wash your face with a cleanser for sensitive skin, meaning it's free of fragrances, alcohol, and preservatives. We like Eau Thermale Avène Tolérance Extrême Cleansing Lotion ($36). Then moisturize daily with a lotion containing soothing feverfew, aloe vera, or licorice, such as Eucerin Daily Perfecting Lotion SPF 15 ($11.99).

Unless you sail through life without allergies, crying jags, salty foods, alcohol, or the common cold, you'll get puffy eyes. The cause is water retention; the fix can be as simple as sleeping on an extra pillow. This prevents fluid from settling under the eyes. "If you wake up puffy, dab a pea-size drop of depuffing eye gel that contains caffeine on the area," says Patricia Wexler, associate clinical professor of dermatology at Mount Sinai School of Medicine in New York City (who also happens to be Cindy Crawford's dermatologist). "Look for one that has additional anti-inflammatory ingredients, such as cucumber or chamomile." We like Clinique All About Eyes Serum ($26) and Patricia Wexler M.D. Dermatology Fastscription Instant De-Puff Eye Gel ($19.50).

For big events, makeup artists hide wrinkles and fine lines with primers that "lay down a smooth layer of silicone over the skin, or creams that temporarily plump it with marine collagen spheres," says Shamban. She likes Smashbox Photo Finish Foundation Primer ($32) and La Prairie Cellular Treatment Gold Illusion Line Filler ($150).

A busy social calendar can lead to bad habits like (gasp) forgetting to remove your makeup before bed. "I see the obsession with small pores at my clinic every day," says Dakar. "When skin is clogged by dirt and bacteria, oil begins to accumulate, and that causes each pore's diameter to expand." She suggests decongesting pores weekly with an exfoliating at-home facial, such as Sonya Dakar Flash Facial ($95), and an oil-absorbing clay mask, like Fresh Umbrian Clay Face Treatment ($48).

"Even skinny women have cellulite," says Dakar. Her remedy? A rolling pin. "I swear by it! When you are in the shower, step out of the stream of water and work a cellulite cream with caffeine into the affected area with strong strokes of a rolling pin. This will help break down fluid retention and reduce the appearance of cellulite."

Fix Body Blemishes

A backless dress and bacne don't mix. The best way to prevent body breakouts? "Shower immediately after the gym," says Dakar. "If you don't have time for that, at least remove your sweaty clothes, pat your skin dry with a damp towel and put on clean, dry clothes." Treat breakouts with benzoyl peroxide. "It can be applied twice daily," she says.

Until someone creates a real-world version of Photoshop, you'll need a little planning and patience to handle uneven skin tone. Skin lighteners with two percent of the bleaching agent hydroquinone, such as DDF Fade Gel 4 ($56), can safely fade a spot in three months. Apply one at night, 20 minutes before your moisturizer.

For a last-minute fix, Dakar's celebrity clients sign up for a beauty boot camp, which tackles skin problems on their backs, arms, and décolleté. "Depending on the dress, we perform the same facials, peels, and other treatments to these areas as well as the face," she says. Just make sure you go a day or two before a big event so your dress doesn't reveal big red splotches.

Psyched to Score a "C"

2011-02-07T23:11:00.002-05:00

A few months ago, the Virgin Mary Magdalene invited me for an impromptu ladies' night at her new home. Soul Sista and I bonded together on the living room couch among the mixed crowd. As the Virgin Mary Magdalene worked the room, she eventually sat down next to me and cupped a feel on my boob.

"What the hell is this?!," the Virgin Mary Magdalene exclaimed, trying to strike fear into me as she does with most of her cult followers. I shrugged my shoulders. Soul Sista's pupils dilated and she opened her mouth. But, no sound came out.

"Seriously. You need a good push-up bra. This is ridiculous," the Virgin Mary Magdalene preached.

While I didn't act on her advice immediately, I thought about what she said. With my collection of Barely There bras, I'm the genetic mutant in a family of well-endowed women who can't wear anything on their chests that contain less than one letter to demarcate size.

During my adolescence, I belonged in the AAA club before I could drive. I spent several nights scratching my chest under the assumption that my boobs would swell like a big mosquito bite if I rubbed hard enough. Tissues were used or fell out. My Jewish Mutha couldn't understand it either initially. Ultimately, my medal-winning "breast stroke" was blamed for my lack of endowment.

Yet, two breastfed kids later, I still fit in with the Barely There crowd.

After the last week of playing the Good Earth wife shoveling pounds of snow from the driveway, I decided I heed the words of the Virgin Mary Magdalene. The Doctah admonished me not to get "booby trapped" at Victoria Secret. While the kids were in school, I sneaked over to a local, "upscale" lingerie boutique shop that supposedly specializes in this sort of shtick.

When I went to the shop, a pleasant woman greeted me and asked if I needed help.

"Yes. A lot of it," I replied.

She took me to a fitting room and measured me. To my shock, she told me that I was a "C"!

I jumped. The woman must have though I had some sort of a seizure.

She began bringing the bras to the dressing room. Being a classy place, I had to wear a T-shirt under the bra (or maybe you always do that, but I don't go for many bra fittings). Punch drunk with the news, I almost bought one of the $80 bras.

Yet, my cheapness always takes over and I thanked her for her time. That night at home, Alpha Male was busy typing on the computer before a late-night client conference call. I interrupted and said, "I've got great news for you!"

Not looking up from the screen, he asked, "You finished the taxes? How much did we get?"

"No! Guess my bra size. It's different."

Eyes still glued to the computer, "So, you've finally graduated to a B."

"No! I'm a C cup! It's your lucky day!," I exclaimed.

He looked up from the computer. I saw the same puzzled stare he gave me when he discovered his dinner cooking in a coffee pot 10 years ago.

"Who told you that?," as he looked ready to launch into a tirade about why I shouldn't hang out with psychics and charlatans.

I told him the boutique story about how I received a professional measurement and even turned down an $80 bra because my cheapness conquers all. Alpha Male smiled. "Well, that is a lot cheaper than plastic surgery!"

My Latest Excuse...

2011-02-04T20:00:00.002-05:00

Here's another reason I can't train for a marathon. The Wall Street Journal says it might ruin my marriage. My motivation to exercise wanes on:

A Workout Ate My Marriage
By KEVIN HELLIKER

As the wife of an endurance athlete, Caren Waxman wakes up alone every morning, including holidays.

A recent Saturday afternoon, Ms. Waxman and, from left, Lily, 10, Jacob, 11, and Jonah, 8.
."Mother's Day really upset me," says the Rockleigh, N.J., mother of three, age 47, whose husband leaves before dawn each morning for hours of exercise. In May, he will wish her a happy Mother's Day from Utah, where he will compete in a triathlon.

"It's selfish," concedes her husband, Jordan Waxman, 46, a private-banking executive at Merrill Lynch and an Ironman triathlete. He says he leaves notes for his wife and children before leaving for morning workouts.

With exercise intruding ever-more frequently on intimacy, counselors are proposing a new wedding vow: For fitter or for fatter. "Exercise is getting more and more couples into my office," says Karen Gail Lewis, a Cincinnati marriage and family therapist.

Jordan Waxman riding his stationary bike.
.Newlyweds have long recognized the risks of potential sickness, infidelity and ill fortune. But few foresee themselves becoming an exercise widow. After all, the idea that one's beloved will take the occasional jog sounds appealing—until two miles a day becomes 10 miles, not counting the 20-mile runs on weekends. "His dream of doing marathons happened just when I got pregnant with our third child," Stephanie Beagley of Colorado Springs says of her husband, Michael, a purchaser for the U.S. Olympic Committee. "Now we don't have tons of time with him."

The exercise widow often wakes to an empty bed—a sure sign of a morning workout—and may find dinner plans spoiled by a sudden avoidance of anything heavy before a night run. Hoping for an hour of television or catching-up before bedtime? Forget it: All that early-morning exercise takes its toll. Mr. Waxman arrives home from the office after his children, ages 11, 10 and 8, have eaten dinner, and he hits the sack before they do. "I'm out of gas by nine o'clock," Mr. Waxman says.

"A lot of wives in my position would have left," Ms. Waxman says.

Ms. Waxman and Jacob in the yard, while Mr. Waxman was training on snowshoes.
.Commitment to a demanding training schedule cuts to the heart of the issues couples often find themselves fighting about—who does chores, who gets time for themselves and who decides where and how the family has fun.

Juggle: Setting Limits, Saying No
.The threat can go beyond time issues. If one partner gets a new, buff appearance and a new circle of buff acquaintances, romantic possibilities can open up—and give the other spouse good reason to feel insecure about his or her own physique.

Couples therapists agree that commitment weakens as alternatives increase. Dr. Lewis recalls a client who realized she was unhappy in her marriage after she lost weight, became athletic and found she was attractive to men other than her husband. "She said, 'I married him thinking I didn't have a choice, because I was so heavy,' " Dr. Lewis recalls. Therapists say many relationships are based on similar levels of attractiveness; a shift in the equation can destabilize a marriage.

The effect of extreme exercise on divorce rates isn't clear. Even if research showed a higher rate of discord in homes where just one spouse is an endurance athlete, exercise could be a consequence, rather than a cause.

Among endurance athletes, though, resentment on the part of spouses is a common topic. The phenomenon may develop into what Pete Simon, an Arizona psychologist, triathlon coach and blogger, calls "Divorce by Triathlon." "I often wonder how many lonely wives, husbands, children of triathletes are out there wondering when the insanity is going to end," he wrote.

Of course, the surest way for a marriage to accommodate an intense exercise regimen is for both spouses to engage in it. Married for five years now, Walt and Kendel Prescott met in 2004 at the start line of a marathon. Mrs. Prescott, now 50, has run 313 marathons; Mr. Prescott, 57, has run 287. Their joke is that he keeps trying to catch up. "Running is a great excuse for me to be with Kendel," says Mr. Prescott, an airline worker in Atlanta.

The explosive growth in marathons, triathlons and other endurance sports comes largely from midlife converts such as Mr. Waxman, the Ironman triathlete. He and his wife celebrated a half-dozen wedding anniversaries and produced three children before exercise came between them.

'I'm amazed at what she can do athletically,' says Gary Berkowitz, whose wife, Lois, runs 20 marathons a year.
.His exercise regimen intensified about seven years ago, eventually hitting two hours each weekday and up to five or six hours each Saturday and Sunday. "It became a sore point," Mrs. Waxman recalls. "I had three young kids and no family nearby. I heard myself badgering him: 'Family is really important. You need to be a part of their lives today.' "

Last summer, Mrs. Waxman persuaded her parents and her husband's parents to join her in what she calls "a family intervention"—a flurry of letters to Mr. Waxman urging him to exercise less.

But Mr. Waxman stood his ground. In his view, his athletic ambition shouldn't have surprised his wife. It arose from the same qualities that drove him to obtain two law degrees, an MBA and his position at Merrill Lynch.

His gargantuan training hours last summer were aimed at a particularly elite goal—a swim across the English Channel, which he achieved in September. "The English Channel thing, hopefully my wife and kids see it as a little bit inspiring," he says.

Rather than avoid exercise herself—the tack of many spouses who can't keep up with extremist partners—Mrs. Waxman hired a personal trainer with whom she works out four times a week. "My husband and I are on the same page in terms of being health-conscious," she says.

And all along she has mixed messages of support with pleas for more family time. "I love my husband, and I'm happy he's passionate," she says. "A husband wants to come home to a wife who says, 'I hope you had a good workout.' "

As for Mr. Waxman, he honors certain rules: Dinner with his family every Friday night. A date with his wife every Saturday night. And as often as possible, he turns competitions into family trips. "I make sure there's enough vacation time with the family," he says.

Some couples accept vast differences in exercise habits in each other. Lois Berkowitz, a 20-marathon-a-year runner and vegetarian, is married to Gary, a meat-and-potatoes eater who doesn't exercise at all. He doesn't like to shovel snow, so she does it.

Until he recently got a diagnosis of cancer, which he is battling, Mr. Berkowitz, 61, used to smoke two packs of cigarettes a day, including inside their home near Detroit.

Mrs. Berkowitz, 62, treasures their decades-long marriage. "We like each other," she says. "We're both introverts. We love our home."

"She's a very interesting person," Mr. Berkowitz says. "We have a very good life. And I'm amazed at what she can do athletically."

Mr. Berkowitz often accompanies her to races to volunteer and cheer at the finish line. He helps edit a running newsletter, and he developed software that helps his wife track her running life. She gives him her marathon T-shirts. "He gets credit for doing the run," Ms. Berkowitz laughs.

Available at: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703439504576116083514534672.html?mod=WSJ_hp_mostpop_read

First Month Results

2011-01-31T21:43:00.001-05:00

The Good

Lost four pounds. Kicked my cookie addiction cold turkey. Was finally able to zip my pants without lying on the bed in a compromising position. Socialized with a good number of friends this month. Got some work done. Got through five teeth whitening rabies-inducing strips to take the yellow edge off. Alpha Male realized I'm taking the Trophy Wife Resolution seriously and gifted me work-out videos.

The Bad

Stopped taking the Harvard valedictorian for walks after two weeks. Binged one night on stale leftover Halloween candy. Replaced cookies with ice cream. Still starting mealtime at 3:00 pm daily.

The Ugly

What is exercise?

A Trophy Wife Night

2011-01-30T23:11:00.002-05:00

A friend invited me to an Arbonne spa party at her house Friday night. Although I was warned in advance it would be a product party pyramid-scheme, I was interested in tips to help a Trophy-Wife-In-Need-Of-Much-Training, especially since an effective eye wrinkle cream remains elusive to me. With Wonder Mom and my friend there, the night was full of promise.

I arrived more than fashionably late and was greeted at the door by the smiling Professional, who was not my friend. Immediately, I knew I was dealing with an expert in the art of selling. She politely introduced herself, took my coat, didn't allow me to ask too many questions and told me I needed to get a "mask" on my face.

She whisked me toward the bathroom. My friend came out of the adjacent living room to greet me. After exchanging hugs, she encouraged me to say hi to the others in the living room. When I peeked in, the room was covered with ghostly white creamed faces with feet in plastic tubs of water. I didn't know anyone. I realized I was going to be conducting an awkward ritual of personal hygiene in front of strangers until...

Wonder Mom yelled to me from the back of the room. I almost recognized her behind the mask. She complimented my hair and asked what I did differently with it.

"I brushed it," I replied.

A few giggles passed among strangers. After The Professional saw that I had had my fun, she took me into the bathroom and showed me how to put on my mask.

The Professional had a plan for me. Once I was done, she escorted me from the bathroom to a seat in the corner. I sat next to an acquaintance, who is the prettier version of Jennifer Grey from the movie Dirty Dancing, because "Nobody puts Baby in the corner."

To minimize the odor emanating from my stinky Hobbit feet, I quickly submerged my toes in the plastic tub of warm water, which had hot rocks at the bottom. I felt like an actor in Japanese Noh theater as The Professional directed the room, knowing everyone's name, sharing laughs like an old friend and telling us what's good for us.

Then, The Professional disappeared. Entering center stage was The Novice.

Using laminated index cards, the Novice stood in front of the room and began the product presentation. Within 60 seconds, she was struggling to give the presentation -- with her index cards. I resigned that I would politely keep my mouth shut and wait patiently for it all to be over soon until...

she brought out the candy. Anyone that answered or asked questions about the products would get a piece of chocolate. Of course, the one with the most chocolate wins a prize.

I always win when it comes to chocolate.

Then the Novice asked her first question: "How long does it take for something to penetrate the skin?"

As some of the more polite people in the audience raised their hands, I blurted out, "Well, that depends."

Stunned, the Novice stared at me. Behind her white mask, Wonder Mom gave a vulpine smile.

"Well, what do you mean, it depends?," the Novice stammered.

"It depends on what type of skin, skin permeability, the age of it, texture of skin, and what type of product or medicine," I rambled on. The Novice froze. Eyes widened behind the masks and the room became quiet. To break up the tension, I replied, "I'm a geek. There's a reason they put me in the corner!"

A few laughs transpired, but the Novice knew she needed to hold her ground. She gave me a piece of candy to shut me up.

"26 seconds is all it takes," the Novice replied.

Wonder Mom chimed in, "She's a nurse so she knows stuff."

The Professional, who reappeared from the back, said, "Well, it's great that you are here to share this with us."

Yeah, right.

Others started asking questions. The Novice tried to defer to The Professional, who seemed to disappear every few moments and throw the questions back hardball style at her. It was like the middle school teacher who wants to embarrass the unprepared student. Struggling, The Novice used an audience member, who had used the products, for anecdotal support. After her story was over, I only had a few moments to get some more questions in to win the prize.

"So how are these eye cream ingredients better than what's in retinol-containing products?," I asked.

"Well, that stuff is just bad!" the Novice responded.

One of my personality defects is I have a hard time staying quiet and polite when mythology is being dispensed in way that can triumph over fact. People with this personality defect usually get killed early on in a revolt.

The Professional smartly stepped in before I could open my mouth and said, "Well, our products are made from plants cells. Retinol comes from an animal cell.
And since our products are vegan, they are natural...."

and implied that they are better for you. However, it's a little known fact that most of the world's poisons come from plants and not animals.

The Novice handed me a second piece of candy during the Professional's talk. I backed off. The Novice was quickly learning I could be tamed just like Pavlov's dogs until...

It was time to wipe off the mask and try some products. A variety of creams were sampled. The Novice sprayed and accidentally blinded a few with another product. Then, we tried the much-anticipated eye wrinkle cream.

At first, I felt tingling around my eyes and was excited that something might actually be minimizing the bags of luggage traveling under my eyes. 60 seconds later, I tapped the prettier version of Jennifer Grey on the shoulder and asked, "Can I please borrow a mirror? My eyes are burning!"

The Novice must have heard. She dropped another piece of candy in my hand when no one was looking. No questions asked.

Not only were my eyes burning, but I failed to notice that most of the chocolate had melted in my hand.

When I got the mirror, I wasn't looking like a Trophy Wife. It looked like I had wiped my kids' butt and then used the same cloth to clean my face.

After wiping my face, a catalog was passed around. The grand cost for whole set was about $300. I was happy to learn the rock trick.

The Novice then began her talk about how we could save money buying the products. Of course, you could become a consultant, go to Vegas, sell this stuff to your friends and drive a white Mercedes to get the stuff cheap. It's a win-win for everyone!

"Can you imagine what Alpha Male would do if you drove up to the house in a white Mercedes?," Wonder Mom leaned over and quietly asked me.

He would probably wonder how much the kids went for on Ebay.

It was obvious many weren't going to buy anything. The room started clearing out. The Professional jumped in for a dramatic rescue. She discussed how some of the baby care products were curing her baby's eczema, when no other prescribed medications worked, after using tons of diaper cream and body wash every other night. She decided to up the ante by sharing how such creams also helped relieve the fever blisters around her mouth(aka, herpes). For about $40 to $50, your baby's eczema and herpes could be cured too.

The prettier version of Jennifer Grey, who saw my eyes burn, bought something. The Novice came over to count what was left of my candy. We all knew I had the most.

Wonder Mom was the only other person that noticed I didn't get my prize.