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Dear Elin Woods,
Your husband, Tiger, is not a sex addict. He’s just a cheater. I’m not by any means saying what he did was okay, but to be fair, he travels half the year and has girls throwing themselves at him wherever he goes. The temptation is right in his face, which would be a difficult situation for any man. He should have said no, but he didn’t.
I don’t think you owe us an explanation on if or why you take him back. You have two small children to think about. If I were faced with this situation, I would tell the media to get off my damn yard (especially since the yard would be taken up by my husband’s new home – a tent).
But honey, bless your heart, I’ve got to call them like I see them. And I say once a cheater, always a cheater. Oh sure, he’ll be on his best behavior in the near future. (This would be the time to capitalize on his guilt and go shopping. Buy whatever you want – you deserve it. Also, if there’s someone you’ve just been dying to have a one-night stand with, by all means go right ahead. It will still not compare to his “lapse in judgment”.) But hear me now and believe me later, that man will cheat again. He will be more discreet (thank God – you don’t deserve to be globally humiliated again) and he will cover his tracks better. But he’s going to cheat. Sorry, hon.
Call me and we’ll do lunch (your treat). Toodles!
Subourbon Wife

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Bad Girl Sex

You can learn a lot in a Barnes & Noble. I went there today and, after pausing at the “Classics” table like I would actually consider reading one (in case anyone was observing me), I picked up a book called The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex. I was just flipping the pages nonchalantly when I caught a part about the “clitoral clock”. Of course I had to slam the book closed and walk away, lest anyone think I was interested in bad girl sex. I tried to create an air of disdain for the book and the others on its table, since they may have all been sex books for all I know, but my disdain could have been mistaken for puzzlement. What I want to know is what kind of woman buys this book? In a bookstore, I mean. Isn’t that the type of thing you should receive in a plain envelope in the mail? I wish I could hang around the dirty book table to see. Some lady with more confidence than I have, that’s for sure. I could never read an instruction manual because then I’d just stress out over what should go where and for how long, resulting in the worst sex ever since the time M mistakenly applied Ben-Gay instead of KY. (YIKES!)
I know what you’re thinking and of course you’re right. I could hardly get through the door before Googling “clitoral clock”. The article that came up started out saying you and your partner would need at least 60 uninterrupted minutes together. I laughed so hard I almost fell off the couch.

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We all know I like to do a good deed each day, and today it is for you, dear reader. I will share with you the sure-fire way to save money when you’re out shopping. Are you ready for it? UNCOMFORTABLE SHOES. And there you have it. Today I had lunch with an ex-coworker, so I had to be especially cute so he would go back and tell everyone who still works at that crummy place that I am actually pretty attractive when my soul is not being sucked by Corporate America. So anyway, I put on my hooker boots, the stilettos. (I heard these referred to as “valet parking shoes” since you can’t walk across the parking lot in them). I thought I was looking pretty cute and had planned on doing some shopping afterward. But since my toes felt like they’d been through a blender, it was all I could do to hobble to my car. I couldn’t even go to Target today – it was that bad!
Back in our single days, all of us knew the trick to not sleeping with a guy was to wear tatty underwear (so even if you decided to throw caution to the wind in the heat of the moment, you wouldn’t be able to since you’d die 3 times before letting him see you in those nasty old things). Unfortunately for me, sex is the one area where I took my mother’s advice (as in, “don’t do it. period.”) If you didn’t have a diamond or the promise of one coming, well neither were you (if you know what I mean) (and I think you do, you old tart). So I am now a recovering prude, but it isn’t any fun because I’m married now. M said he’d give me permission to sleep with someone else if I really wanted to, but I think that kind of takes the shine off of it.
Where was I? Oh yes, saving money. So unless your ego is so low as to allow yourself to ride around on one of those Lil Rascals, you won’t be spending money if you wear your uncomfortable shoes. You’re welcome.

DANGER: This trick doesn’t work on shoe shopping because you might be inclined to purchase more comfortable shoes!!!

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I had a nightmare last night that M was having an affair with Kelly Ripa. Yikes. Doesn’t she just seem like someone you could never compete against to get your husband back? Have you seen that girl’s abs?? And, as far as I can tell, she is perky about 24 hours a day and needs very little sleep (whereas I can do maybe an hour of perky – I’ll choose which hour – and never feel like I’ve had enough sleep, despite sleeping all the time).

I was just about to give M up for gone when I remembered that Kelly cooks. And then I was thinking we need someone like that around here, someone who can cook and have perky conversation with M. I wonder if she does laundry?
I guess I shouldn’t get too excited about this idea since M looks very little like her husband, Mark Consuelos, and I am thinking he may not be her type. (Damn him, he ruins everything for me.) But he is good looking in a different way. Just last week he told me that a cashier told him, “I’ll bet your wife could look into your eyes all day long.”
“Screw her!” I snapped at him. “Did you tell her I have to stand in front of the TV just to see them?” (See what I mean about my not being perky all the time? Kelly probably would have handled that much better.)
So I was going through all of this in my head this morning, plotting how to get Kelly Ripa to our house, when I came downstairs and found my coffee already brewed for me. My husband, not having cultivated the level of caffeine addiction as I have, doesn’t drink coffee before he gets to work. So that sweet man made the coffee just for me. How could I possibly think of sharing such a thoughtful man?
It is with newfound gratitude that I write:
Dear Kelly,
Please don’t have an affair with my husband. I know, I know. He DOES have some pretty peepers. But he is taken. Sorry, hon, you will have to make do with Mark Consuelos.
Love, the Subourbon Wife
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