I have always harbored a dislike of the incredible Joanne Woodward. Not as an actress or a person, mind you, simply because of an interview that I saw long ago where Joanne was speaking about all the nice things that her husband did for her – even commenting on the fact that they still have the same bed in their bedroom that they’d purchased in Las Vegas (where they were married.) There was just something about that which irked me. Now, before anyone gets their hackles up, I believe Joanne Woodward was an amazing talent and one heck of a lady. But ever since that interview, when women come to me and say how sweet and kind their spouse is, I put them in the “Joanne Woodward” category. Of course, my wording is not as nice when I mumble it, but this blog is public, after all.
In the simplest terms, I am speaking for all single women out there with my attitude. Oh, come on…there must be some! I’ve spoken briefly in the past about my father taking a second job (a secret lawn-mowing gig) so that he could get extra money to send my mother flowers. Not because it was her birthday, their anniversary, or a super-duper-holiday like Valentine’s Day, where history (and, Hallmark) demands men to give gifts. No, no. The card my mother received with her bouquet read simply, ‘Just Because.’ To be honest and state it plainly, I would cut my own arm off for ‘Just Because.’ I also don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility for me to swim with sharks for ‘Just Because,’ if that’s what it takes.
And, speaking of sharks, my daughter who is nineteen and wants more than anything to save all the sharks on the planet through a career in marine biology, has a young man who is extremely respectable and hard-working. He gave her roses for Valentine’s Day. I know, the ‘norm.’ However, the card read that he would love her until the last rose died. I thought. Hmmm. Does he realize that roses die quickly? Is this some kind of warning? Will I have to rip HIS arm off soon for breaking my daughter’s heart? No, no. In the middle of the bouquet was a plastic rose. Hence, the message in the card. Yup. I would rip my leg off for that one.
There was also a necklace given lately that is a key on a chain – I know, key to your heart and all that. Fluffy? You bet! A little on the shtick-y side? Absolutely! That one I’d only give up my hand for.
Apparently, I have not yet found the club where these men hang out, but these ‘Joanne Woodward’ women seem to be crawling all over the place like roaches. J The clubhouses I’ve seen are comprised of romantic beings that think “Get in the truck, woman” and then belching loudly in your ear, is the same as taking bended knee and saying, “Will you marry me, sweetheart?” Also in the clubhouses I’ve seen are true intellectuals who can’t seem to understand why I don’t have a British accent if I’m from New England. Nope, not kidding.
You know what I think? Joanne Woodward made a pact with Fate to make sure that when I used her name in vain, I would be delivered the most UN-charming Prince in the kingdom. Bitter? Heck, no. I still have all my body parts, after all AND I get more time to clean the house In fact, this past weekend I scrubbed my shower so clean that it shines like it just came off the Home Depot floor. Of course, I sprayed so many chemicals that I am still recovering. I felt very much like a cross between a Marilyn Manson follower and a Jack the Ripper wanna‘-be for a time. But I suppose once in a while it’s good to see vapor trails as people pass you by. Makes almost everyone you see look like Mr. Darcy. Ahh…Mr. Darcy. He could be buried in a pile of pride and prejudice and I’d still stand in the corner and drool.
So, for all you Joanne Woodward’s out there, I just want to let you know how lovely and wonderful it is that you have a sweet, kind man at your side. And the only thing I can say is, I hope beyond all hope that they at LEAST leave the seat up once in a while…just to even things out.
Until Next Time,