My lovely, talented in-laws arrive today, so in honor of their visit, I’ve purchased a half-gallon of Tanqueray and a half-gallon of Absolut. Wacky Daddy, even though he was the one who sent me to the liquor store, knowing that I would have both kids with me, knowing that this makes me look like the biggest losingest DRUNK IN LIFE, “Nice influence on your kids, Lady!” did the same. Yes, we now have a gallon of gin and a gallon of vodka in the house. He even bought maraschino cherries, so Wacky Girl and Wacky Boy can have Kiddie Cocktails.
Get ’em started early, that’s our motto. “Mixed nuts with those cocktails, kids? Stuffed olives?” So I’d better write the advice column early, before I’m too drunk to type…
And now, without further ado, The Friday Advice Column for Wacky Mothers & Others…
Dearest Wacky Mommy:
Help! I’ve lost my husband. First there was the goatee. Then there was the mustache that sort of morphed into the goatee. Then the mustache took on a life of its own — sprouting these “handlebar” things –giant curly wisps of hezz hezz hezz. And now…it’s the beard. Not so much a beard as patchy clumps of hez-short and hez-long scattered carelessly about what used to be a very adorable, soft, baby-smooth face.
Hezz! Everywhere! It’s in my mouth and up my nostrils when we kiss. “Stuff” gets in it. Food. Beverage. Lint. Legos. Small animals. My own personal bodily fluid…
The horror. The horror.
It’s gotta go. My husband has turned into some sort of urban Grizzly Adams. We were having sex the other day and I kept getting distracted, thinking he looked like he had a Tribble on his face. The thing is — he knows how I feel about it, and he refuses to…compromise. I’m normally a shaver, but I’m seriously considering letting my dark Slavic genes get their fuzz on. What’s a gal to do?
Signed,
Grizzly’s Wife
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