Suburban Housewife, Episode 1: I Hate My Life…

So polatis class was horrible. I don’t know why sane people-by that I mean me-still do it. It totally makes no sense to grind and trudge for two hours, three times a week, only to be told that I have lost just 5 pounds in the last two months.

Ugh!! I blame it on the cocktail shrimp; heavenly to the lips but hell to the waist line.

What I hate the most though, is that despite my hating it, I will still find my way there tomorrow for another morale killing session. That and Brie (who happens to be my best friend and the one person I hang out with despite her flawless skin getting on my damn nerves; reminding me of how my acne-ridden face looks like polka dot dress) just texted me reminding me of this cleansing fast that we had signed up for where we do vegetables and water smoothies for 7 days, promising us flawless skin and a healthy colon.

Uuugh! [Somebody just kill me already]

And then this morning William had the nerve to ask me for another baby, as though the twin girls I had allowed us to adopt were not enough. They are enough baggage as it is. I cannot go anywhere without the little minions insisting they want t tag along. I love those kids, I really do (I know this because I have not yielded to the temptation to poison them…yet. That must be love) I just wish they were not so young, and annoying…and alive.

That was not even the most shocking part; he said he wanted us to conceive one of our own. Me, Marilyn Pepper Shelwick, to carry a baby in my belly; never on God’s green earth I am not. Even if it was to save humanity or to earn a dream holiday in the Hamptons and honorary membership to their Golf club, I am not doing it. I would rather sleep naked in a lice infected over used carpet, in a mid-western down and dirty flea bag motel sporting a semi infected nipple ring than carry my own baby.

What am I, nuts?

I am not taking my body through the sort of carnage I see on YouTube. It is inhuman to conceive such a preposterous idea. I have to stay fly and fabulous; I have a reputation to maintain. I have been the third thinnest housewife in this neighborhood for the past two years and since last year’s winner, Alicia Woodward, split with her husband and moved out after his affair with the nanny got exposed, the seat is ripe for the taking. Poor Alicia, if only she had listened to us when we warned her about that skinny, pop loving, dressing like a hippy college girl, she wouldn’t be in such a tight spot.


Wait; don’t get me wrong, I did not hate Alicia. Okay, that’s a lie; I hated the guts out of her. Her and her perfect little family; with her successful husband and her perfect little over-achieving kids, making us feel like we were bad mums; always flaunting it in our faces, oh how it made me bitter. But, even if you hate someone, you don’t always wish them bad. Like yes, sometimes I wished her cat would eat her face off and that her Botox would go awry, making her lips look like cheese puffs; but never that her husband would hook up with a younger woman who made her feel older that Maya Angelou. Anyway, with her gone, the place is ready for a new slim queen.

My face mask is peeling of, signaling that it’s time for me to go wash my wrinkles away and steam my acne spotted face. I bought this new cleansing cream which promises me better results than the one I tried last week. So that’s a wrap for me; hoping that will have the strength to get up in the morning. William better not try to get intimate with me; I need my beauty sleep and I just got my hair done.

Goodnight my lovelies. Stay fabulous… 😉


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