Foreplay or Snoreplay?
Dear TMH,
My husband thinks foreplay consists of suddenly shoving his hands down my underwear. I’ve had his IQ tested and he surprisingly doesn’t fall into the mentally impaired range, so I’m beginning to suspect this is a genetic defect that resides on the Y chromosome. Is there any way he’ll learn the fine balance between foreplay that’s either too short or so long that I fall asleep?
Signed,
Frigid Midge
_________
Dear Frigid Midge,
Ah, foreplay. As in “the opening act”, “the warm-up”, “the ‘Jesus, Harold, let’s get this show on the road so I can get back to Grey’s Anatomy before Izzy dies.’” Unfortunately, it’s a dilemma that’s come between lovers for centuries. In fact, according to reliable sources, even fair Juliet used to get angry with her swain Romeo for suddenly shoving his paws down her reinforced chastity belt and grunting, “Thoust ready for the big one, baby?” (Note: Reliable sources = Wikipedia.)
My first suggestion is to try what’s always worked for me: Put on some lingerie that doesn’t highlight your “problem” areas, light a few candles, get some Marvin Gaye goin’, then, when the stage is set and you’re primed for a night of animal lovin’, simply close your eyes and pretend that your husband is a youngish, slightly more talented Brad Pitt.
Bada-Bing, Bada-Boom. Fireworks.
Another thing you can try, however, is Dr. Laura Berman’s “Foreplay Map.” Just print it out, write your name on one sheet and your partner’s on the other and think about what gets you in the mood. On your sheet, label body parts in the order you like to be touched. On the other sheet, label areas in the order you like to touch your partner. Have your partner do the same and compare the results. Then, simply lock the door and spend a few hours seeing what you’ve learned.
So, good luck, Midge. Remember, when it comes to a night of love, it’s all about communication. And sometimes, three shots of whiskey when nobody’s looking.
Love,
Wendi, TMH
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My Friend’s Husband Wants Me
Dear Mouthy Housewives,
My friend’s husband made a pass at me. What do I do?
Signed,
He’s married and I’m not.
————-
Dear He’s Married,
If this cad looks like Lawrence Weiner who crushed the competition in my 7th grade Science Fair, you’ll have no problem politely declining his generous offer.
If however, he looks like Lawrence Weiner did when he returned from freshman year of college (who knew finally hitting puberty would make someone so effin hot), then saying no will be a bit more challenging. Especially if the most action you’ve gotten lately is on your gym’s elliptical machine.
But alas, no matter how smokin’ the guy, there is no upside to shagging your friend’s husband. It may be fun and scandalous for awhile but eventually he’ll inadvertently leave his email account open (because this is how every single cheater, since the creation of Hotmail, gets caught) and his wife/your friend will read all about your sexual exploits. This will make things very awkward at your spring school fundraising gala. And let’s all agree those galas are already awkward enough.
Just tell him that although the role of the “other woman” sounds just delightful, you’d rather pass on a year of manic highs and lows, lonely holidays by yourself and keeping the identity of your “boyfriend” a secret. And then chalk it up to a midlife crisis on his part.
Don’t mention anything to your friend unless she directly asks you, “Has my smarmy husband ever hit on you?” And until you can find a proper, single boyfriend, hit the gym. I’d advise finding one with a low monthly membership and a bunch of elliptical machines. As every single gal knows, these dry spells can last awhile. But I promise, your prince is out there.
Love,
Kelcey, TMH
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Dinner? Didn’t They Just Have Dinner Yesterday?
Dear Mouthy Housewife,
Do you have any suggestions for quick, easy family dinners?
Signed,
Screw You, Hamburger Helper!
___________
Dear Screw,
What do I look like, Julia Child? Wait, don’t answer that. The way I see it, the trouble with cooking is that we go all out and prepare a delicious meal, which takes hours–finding the recipe, shopping for the ingredients, chopping, mincing, sauteing, drinking heavily, pureeing, basting, roasting, remixing a cocktail, garnishing, serving, and it’s consumed in mere minutes. And the next day, they expect more food. It makes a girl think that Marie Antoinette had the right idea with the whole “let them eat cake”. But they guillotined her because no one wants children to ruin their appetites and be hyper from all the sugar. I think.
I’ll give you my secret: cook in bulk, like they do in prison. Stews, meatballs, meatloaf-yes. Cornish hens-no. If you can double the recipe and freeze part of it, all the better. Time saver for the future.
As for the recipes themselves, if you want a great book that walks you through making a supereasy beef stew, and other staples, you have to get Laurie Colwin’s Home Cooking. Laurie’s recipes are unintimidating and the results are delicious. I have two copies of her book and if we were neighbors, you could borrow one. But we’re not. So you can’t. If you’re not within bookstore range, get recipes from Epicurious.com. Super easy.
And remember, the chef never cleans. That’s what we had children for in the first place.
Bon appetit, mon cheri.
Love,
TMH
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Silver Your Friends Will Envy
To make your silver sparkle, polish it with glitter paint. You’ll be amazed at the results!
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Leaf On Me
Dear Mouthy Housewives,
My neighbor blows all of his leaves into the street and then they wind up back in my yard. How can I get him to stop doing this?
Signed,
Leafed Off In Boston
______
Dear Leafed Off,
Your question reminds me of what Thoreau once said about the beauty of a leaf. Do you know the quote I’m talking about? I really hope you do because I went to public school and was too busy learning how to roll a keg down ten flights of stairs to waste my time reading namby-pamby literature like that. Ah, college. Anyway, I seem to think what he said was, “When faced with the capriciousness of nature, one must realize the wisdom of living in a neighborhood with a militant homeowners association that’ll kick someone’s ass for violating certain bylaws. Yeah, bo-oyy.” Of course, I’m paraphrasing.
If you don’t have an HOA, there’s another thing you can try. First, knock on your neighbor’s door wearing nothing but a giant Hefty bag and a naughty smile, then tell him you’ll let him take the bag off of your quivering, naked body if he promises to fill it up with leaves. Problemo solvedeo, muchacha. (Note: Depending on the amount of trees in his yard, this may take some time. Be sure to bring along sunscreen, Gatorade and a few cans of bug repellent.)
Of course, if you’d rather not go that route, simply just go talk to the dude. Technically, he doesn’t have any control over his leaves once they hit the street, but maybe, in the spirit of neighborhood harmony, you can convince him to blow them into a mutually agreeable location where they can then be bagged up and hauled away. True, it’s not as exciting as a wild Hefty bag striptease, but then again, few things in life are.
Love,
TMH
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