You might want to ask Mrs. David Lettermen — I’m guessing she’d say no (although, one of Letterman’s paramours, Merrill Markoe, joked, “As you can imagine this is a very emotional moment for me because Dave promised me many times that I was the only woman he would ever cheat on.” Gotta love her sense of humor).
And so Letterman’s wife, Regina Lasko, becomes the latest in a string of wives who have been cuckolded — actually, cuckqueaned, but that just sounds so not OK— by their spouses (although the affairs occurred before they were married, Lasko and Letterman were in a long-term, committed relationship at the time).
It’s October, and so the Halloween decorations have taken over. Actually, they started taking over right after Labor Day, but I refuse to indulge them by paying attention. And since I have had to acknowledge that the last time trick-or-treaters came to my door was about five years ago (or more), I can no longer make excuses for buying the jumbo bag of mini-Twizzlers (which I mostly devour by myself, often eating so many that I have had to run out the night before the big day and buy another bag — just in case.)
So I was admiring the windows in some of the stores downtown, the pumpkins and witches and scarecrows, when I walked by the lingerie shop. Along with the lacy La Perla bras and Hanky Panky panties were some manikins wearing costumes — a French maid, a Marie Antoinette-like French getup (but with a lacy miniskirt), etc.
That’s often how we women dress on Halloween — we flaunt our sexuality, whether as a French maid or a nurse or a sexy witch. I have lent the same nurse costume to a friend for several years now, and each year she tells me what a hit it is. I’m guessing she doesn’t wear it like Nurse Ratched did.
I’ve worn it myself, of course, but after a while it was boring being a nurse. So when I was invited to a Halloween party two years ago, I went as a dominatrix instead; for whatever reason (best not to ask) I had all the various parts of the costume at hand. Needless to say, it was a pretty popular costume.
Two years before, the man I was dating and I decided to play dress-up for our own private Halloween party. I told him I’d be a nurse, but then my friend wanted to borrow my costume and so I showed up as the dominatrix.
He was disappointed. Wrong fantasy!
But, why is it that we women tend to go for “sexy” on Halloween?
My friend is finally pregnant after years of the pain — emotionally, physically and financially — of fertility explorations.
Which, of course, makes her an Oprah show — everyone wants to rush in with his or her opinion and story, often bordering on a Stephen King horror novel, about 36 hour labors, last-minute C-sections, lactation woes, lack of sleep, endless feedings …
There’s only one other life event in which people feel so free to divulge and advise, and that’s divorce.
So when I saw her recently — she looked so radiant and happy — I wanted none of that. Instead, I told her what I thought was the key to having a baby: Saving the marriage.
“Are you dating someone?” my 15-year-old was asked by a relative while a group of us were celebrating his brother’s high school graduation.
“No. I’m just hooking up.”
Hooking up!?! Did that mean that my “baby” was on his way to becoming a playa?
Now, I'm a hip mom. Of course I've heard of kids hooking up — it's not exactly a new phenomenon. And hooking up to my middle-aged brain means sex (and not the oral sex is the new sex version, either).
As usual, my kids teach me much more than I think I know whenever I stop talking and just listen.
