Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog: The Amazing Adventures of an Ordinary Womanby Lisa Scottoline
A hilarious collection of stories from the life of the New York Times bestselling author of Look Again
At last, together in one collection, are Lisa Scottoline's wildly popular Philadelphia Inquirer columns. In her column, Lisa lets her hair down, roots and all, to show the humorous side of life from a woman's perspective. The Sunday/i>/p>/i>/i>
A hilarious collection of stories from the life of the New York Times bestselling author of Look Again
At last, together in one collection, are Lisa Scottoline's wildly popular Philadelphia Inquirer columns. In her column, Lisa lets her hair down, roots and all, to show the humorous side of life from a woman's perspective. The Sunday column debuted in 2007 and on the day it started, Lisa wrote, "I write novels, so I usually have 100,000 words to tell a story. In a column there's only 700 words. I can barely say hello in 700 words. I'm Italian." The column gained momentum and popularity. Word of mouth spread, and readers demanded a collection. Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog is that collection. Seventy vignettes. Vintage Scottoline.
In this collection, you'll laugh about:
• Being caught braless in the emergency room
• Betty and Veronica's Life Lessons for Girls
• A man's most important body part
• Interrupting as an art form
• A religion men and women can worship
• Real estate ads as porn
• Spanx are public enemy number one
• And so much more about life, love, family, pets, and the pursuit of jeans that actually fit!
“Scottoline savors every last bit of her life, and so will you.” People magazine
“Plunging into home improvement frenzy, constructing a chicken coop, figuring out mystifying insurance policies and how not to die at the gym are some of the conundrums this ordinary woman faces with verve and wicked humor, especially how her beloved dogs have contentedly replaced the romance in her life.” Publishers Weekly
“Scottoline takes the fodder of everyday life and offers witty reflections from a female perspective.” Booklist
“…shrewd, tart, sensitive and hard to resist.” Kirkus Reviews
“She has compiled about 70 of the funniest, smartest and most poignant dispatches into one deliciously exuberant collection. What really makes this collection so addictive is Scottoline's way of capturing everyday moments, dissecting them and coming up with unexpected and slightly off-kilter observations about life.” Book Page
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Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog
The Amazing Adventures of an Ordinary Woman
By Lisa Scottoline
St. Martin's PressCopyright © 2009 Lisa Scottoline
All rights reserved.
Of Dogs and Men
I'm old enough to remember Ozzie and Harriet, which means that my idea of the nuclear family was born in the 1950s and never quite grew up. By that I mean, a family has a Mommy, a Daddy, and two kids. And a dog.
Run, Spot, run!
We all know that the nuclear family has changed, but what's interesting to me is that nobody has just one dog anymore.
I'm not sure when it started, but all of the people who used to have a family dog now have family dogs. I myself have a full herd — three golden retrievers and one Pembroke Welsh corgi, who rules us all. Multiple dogs used to be thought of as crazy. Fifteen years ago, when I used to walk two dogs in the city, people asked me if both dogs were mine. Now I walk four and nobody raises an eyebrow.
This is true on TV as well. More and more, we see two dogs chowing down in Iams commercials, side-by-side. The Dog Whisperer, Cesar Milan, spends many of his episodes trying to get all of us crazies with multiple dogs to live happily together.
So when exactly did people start acquiring multiple dogs?
Before you answer, consider another phenomenon, which I'm sense is related. What caused the nuclear family to blow up was that people started getting divorced like crazy. All of a sudden, the divorces began to pile up. I don't mean across-the-country, I mean in one person. People I met had acquired second and third divorces almost as easily as they had acquired second and third dogs. At some point, the third divorce became the new second divorce. No one even bothered to count their first divorce. People didn't tell their third set of kids about it. It happened so long ago, you could easily forget.
Nowadays, even normal people are on their second divorce. People like me, for example. I have two ex-husbands, Thing One and Thing Two. To be honest, I used to be embarrassed about being divorced twice. When people asked me if I was married, I would simply answer, "No, I'm divorced." Okay, technically it was the truth, but lawyers would call it a material omission. Sooner or later, my pathetic personal history would spill out, and I'd be busted.
But recently, I was speaking at a library in California, and I met a lot of very nice women my age. And when I mumbled something about being divorced twice, one of them said, "Don't worry about it, honey, I'm divorced four times." And somebody else chirped up, "I'm on my third." And another chimed in, "I'm on my fifth!"
Boy, did that make me feel great! Er, I mean, it made me feel terribly concerned for the future of our nation and the American family.
And the funny thing is, many of these women had multiple dogs. Everyone I spoke with who had more than one dog also had more than one divorce. Some women had more divorces than dogs, others had more dogs than divorces. It makes you wonder which came first — the dog or the divorce?
Is the new dog acquired as a result of the new divorce? In other words, do we trade our husband in for a dog?
Or does getting yet another Yorkie lead to your fourth divorce?
Are we replacing stable human families with stable dog families?
You may think I'm comparing two unrelated things, but this really isn't so crazy when you consider that many women, myself included, sleep with their dogs on the bed. In fact, in my own case, three of my dogs sleep on what used to be my ex's side of the bed. Plus, dogs do a lot of the things husbands do; snore, toss and turn, and fart. And I think my corgi has restless leg syndrome.
I believe these things are related. From my side of the bed, I'm smelling a connection.
The only thing that's missing is the prenup.CHAPTER 2
I like to write about the differences between men and women, but this time I thought I'd bring up something we have in common. Namely, that we can't always control our eyes.
For a long time now, men have gotten a lot of grief when they look at a woman's chest instead of her eyes. Mostly everybody has made that observation, so that men are terrified to look anywhere but directly into our eyes. It's gotten to the point that if a weird bony hand burst through a woman's sternum, like in the movie Alien, the man she was talking to would be the last to notice. Or if he knew, he'd be too afraid to admit it, lest he incur the wrath of Sigourney Weaver.
It's not really fair to men.
First of all, it's only natural for a man to wonder what a woman's chest looks like. Men have testosterone for a reason, and if they don't use it up looking at our chests, then they'll be causing wars and football playoffs.
Second, women are getting boob jobs left and right, so to speak. It's a mixed message to spend all that money on a new and improved chest, then get angry when a man notices your purchase. Women can't have it both ways.
Third, what's happening now is that a man will spend so much time staring fixedly into a woman's eyes that she'll wonder if her eye makeup is sliding off or if he has a David Copperfield thing and is trying to mesmerize her. Hyp-mo-tized!
It's tough to be a man, with eyes, when breasts are around.
And women are having their own eye issues lately. There's a male body part I always check out before I look at a man's face. And frankly, if this body part doesn't pass the test, I never get to his face. In fact, if this body part doesn't go my way, I don't even care if he has a face.
I'm talking about the ring finger.
It's gotten to be a very bad habit with me. It's not like I'm on the prowl, or that I want to get married again, because I don't. My Future Ex-Husband will be very carefully chosen, because after Strike Two, well, you know. Still I find myself checking out ring fingers to see if a man is married, everywhere I go. At Staples. At a party. Even driving on the turnpike.
In fact, I'm pretty sure that if a man killed somebody in front of me and the police called me as an eyewitness, I couldn't describe him at all if he had a wedding band on. Married men can get away with murder when I'm around.
I could give a detailed description of their ring, however.
Even weirder, I check out ring fingers as if there's a doubt about the outcome, which there isn't. Every man I see is married. Every man I know is married. Every man I don't see and don't know is married. Checking ring fingers is like watching The Godfather over and over, and hoping Don Corleone doesn't die in the tomato patch.
And then the other day I found myself in the awful predicament that men must get into when they're talking to a woman they're attracted to and they want to check out her chest, but they can't because the woman is watching their eyes to see where they go. I happened to be talking to this attractive man, having a conversation that was unusually entertaining, or at least not about his wife or kids for a change, when I realized that by some stroke of temporary insanity, I had forgotten to check out his ring finger first.
Then he kept talking and being more charming and getting handsomer by the minute, and I kept wondering, is he married or not? I kept waiting for the right moment to sneak a peek at his ring finger, but I knew he would see my eyes look down because he was staring so fixedly into my pupils, because he wasn't allowed to sneak a peek at my chest. I knew I wasn't supposed to reduce him to a finger anymore than he was supposed to reduce me to a chest, and for a time, we were almost in danger of getting to know one another.
What a waste of time!
But luckily, our eyes got teary from all that staring, and we both lost interest in the conversation because we couldn't get the answer we really wanted.
So what happened?
He turned away first, and I got my answer. Married. So I wasn't interested.
Then he got his answer. 34 A. So he wasn't interested.
And don't get me started on married men who don't wear wedding rings.
Everything Old Is Nude Again
Something dangerous is going on in the world of women's underwear, and I want to nip it in the butt.
I am referring, of course, to Spanx.
If you don't know what Spanx are, I have one word for you:
I got introduced to Spanx by accident, when I bought a black- patterned pair, thinking they were tights. I got my size, which is B.
I took them home and put them on, which was like slipping into a tourniquet. Then I realized they weren't tights, they were just Tight, and I checked the box, which read Tight-End Tights.
I actually managed to squeeze myself into them, then I put on a knit dress, examined myself in the mirror, and hated what I saw. From the front, I looked like a Tootsie Roll with legs. From the back, instead of having buttocks, I had buttock.
In other words, my lower body had been transformed into a cylinder. I no longer had hips where hips are supposed to be, or saddlebags where God intended. I was the cardboard in the roll of toilet paper.
And another detail. I couldn't breathe.
Also the elastic waistband was giving me a do-it-yourself hysterectomy.
I didn't understand the product, so I went instantly to the website, which explained that these were no ordinary tights but were "slimming apparel." This, under the bright pink banner that read, "It's what's on the inside that counts!"
The website claimed that "these innovative undergarments eliminate VBL (visible bra lines) and VPL (visible panty lines)."
Would this be a good time to say that I'm in favor of VBL and VPL? Especially VPL. In fact, I want my P as V as possible.
You know why?
Because I wear P.
I don't know what kind of signal we're sending if we want our butts to suggest otherwise. Bottom line, I'm not the kind of girl who goes without P. In other words, I'm a Good Girl (GG). And GGs wear P.
Same goes for B.
I admit, I get a little lazy, especially at home or in the emergency room, as you will learn later. I don't always bother with B all the time. But if I'm in public and not wearing a down coat, I wear B. And I also want my B to be V.
You know why?
I want extra credit.
If I went to the trouble to put on a B, I want to be recognized for it. Here's an analogy; I'm not the kind of person who makes charitable donations anonymously. If I give away money, I want a plaque or maybe a stadium named after me, so everybody knows that I'm nice, in addition to being good. (N and G). In fact, that makes me a N and GG.
But back to P and B.
I went back to the mirror and noticed something else — that the fat that properly belonged on my hips, having taken up residence there at age 40, was now homeless and being relocated upward by my tights, leaving a roll at my waist which could pass for a flotation device.
But have no fear. I checked the website, and Spanx has the solution: "slimming camis." That is, camisoles that look like Ace bandages, which presumably pick up the fat roll at the waist and squeeze it upward, so that, having nowhere else to go, it pops out on top, as breasts.
Or rather, ta-tas!
This is interesting, for physics. Natural law says that matter cannot be created or destroyed, but that was pre-Spanx. With these babies, you could destroy the matter at your waistline and increase it at your bustline, merely by turning your body into a half- squeezed tube of toothpaste.
And of course, you'll need a new bra to catch all your homeless fat, so the website sells "the Bra-llelujah!" It even states, "So, say goodbye to BBS (Bad Bra Syndrome)!"
Thank God. I hate it when my B is B.
I looked at the other articles of slimming apparel, and there were even tights for pregnant women, which was great. I wouldn't want my baby to be born with VIL (Visible Infant Lines).
And there were Power Panties, which made me smile.
If women had power, we wouldn't need Spanx.CHAPTER 4
I was driving down the street the other day when I saw a sign on an empty storefront that read, FISH PEDICURES COMING SOON!
It was the kind of sign that got me thinking. Do fish need pedicures? You'd think they would do without, in this economy.
Unless they were goldfish.
I went home and plugged "fish pedicures" into Google, and I learned that this is a new kind of pedicure for women, whereby you plunge your feet into a tank of water and fish eat your dead skin off.
I'm not joking.
The article said that fish pedicures use doctor fish, who evidently love this sort of thing. You have to wonder why they didn't put their medical degree to better use. To me, the only thing more disgusting than putting your feet in a bucket of flesh-eating fish is being a fish who has to eat dead skin for dinner.
I don't have time to get pedicures, though I love them. The last one I had, my feet came out clean and smooth as a saint's, except for the red nail polish. I opted for red because if you're going to get a pedicure once a year, you have to make it count. Red toenail polish signals that you're single and ready to mingle, at least in your mind.
Otherwise, the sight of a middle-aged woman's foot is not for the fainthearted, especially in mid-winter. Only women have the constitution to deal with it, like childbirth and diaper genies.
I can barely stomach trimming my own toenails, which I do with one of those cheapo stainless-steel clippers from CVS. I try to cut them evenly, but they always end up pointy enough to qualify as a lethal weapon in most jurisdictions.
Plus, my scientific observation is that nails thicken with time, so that a fifty-year-old toenail has the thickness of a ram's horn and is almost as pretty. My toenail trimming would go a lot faster if I replaced the clipper with a chainsaw.
And then there are calluses, which are fun. I can't imagine a doctor fish eating through my calluses, unless he was a surgeon fish.
Or a sturgeon fish.
Plus my calluses have toughened as the years have gone by, adding layer after layer, like the Earth's crust. Sometimes the calluses sprout cracks like fault lines, and when they finally split open, I have my own personal earthquake.
My feet are a natural disaster.
Daughter Francesca is grossed out by my feet, but they have their advantages. I don't have to wear shoes, as I appear to be growing my own pair of wooden clogs.
I don't need a pedicurist, I need a blacksmith.
Of course, my toes are no picnic, either. I don't know when this happened, maybe at about age 40, but all my toes have been become one. In other words, where I used have five vertical toes on each foot, I now appear to have one toe on each foot, but it's horizontal.
Please tell me this happened to you, too.
And what's up with our little toe?
Do you even have a little toe anymore? What happens to that little toe, when we get older? Has it been ignored for so long that it simply decides to vanish? Does it say to itself, I wonder if anybody will even notice that I'm gone?
If you ask me, that little piggy is going to market and never coming back.
The saddest thing about the little toe is the littlest toenail.
Can you even see yours, ladies?
I don't know if you have the Amazing Disappearing Toenail, but I do. About 10 years ago, it was normal size, then it magically cut itself in half, then in half again and again. Now it's a toe sliver. If I could lose weight like my littlest toenail, I'd be Lindsay Lohan.
Bottom line, the fish pedicure isn't for me.
Even a shark would throw up his hands.CHAPTER 5
Everybody has their pornography, and mine is the real estate ads. I don't know when this happened or why, but I read the real estate ads with the absorption of a pervert.
At the outset, I should make it clear that I love my house. I have no intention of moving, ever. But I still can't wait to get the Sunday paper and start house-shopping.
I gaze lovingly at ads for condos in town and new construction in far suburbs. I look at duplexes and ranchers, Cape Cods and mansions. I look at houses that are way too expensive as well as ones that aren't half as nice as my house. I study the photos of the Featured Properties and wonder if the stone front is only a façade or goes all the way around. Is that front lawn as big as it looks?
It might be cool to live in a Featured Property instead of a normal house, presumably featureless.
And then there's the ad copy, which can't be deciphered without a decoder ring. What is a "Custm/grmt/KIT/isl/Cor"? I translate "custom kitchen with a Corian island" because I'm a professional. But the "grmt" stumps me. A misprint for granite? And what about a "new LL rec rm/wine clr?" I understand a new recreation room with a wine cellar, but what's LL?
It's a mystery, delicious and tantalizing, which only enhances the sensuality of the ads. It's real estate, semi-nude.
I flip to the shore properties and read about the beach houses. It would be nice to have a beach house, wouldn't it? I love the beach. Lots of people have second houses, why shouldn't I? Today there's a sold stamp over the photo of a four-bedroom at the Jersey shore, and the sight fills me with dismay. Now I couldn't buy the beach house even if I wanted to.
Which I didn't.
This is what I think about as I scan the ads for homes that I will never buy. It's like daydreaming about how I'd spend Powerball winnings though I never play the lottery, which is another of my fantasies.
Excerpted from Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog by Lisa Scottoline. Copyright © 2009 Lisa Scottoline. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Meet the Author
Lisa Scottoline is the New York Times bestselling author of novels including Look Again, Lady Killer, Think Twice, Save Me and Everywhere That Mary Went. She also writes a weekly column, "Chick Wit," with her daughter Francesca Serritella, for The Philadelphia Inquirer. The columns have been collected in My Nest Isn't Empty, It Just Has More Closet Space. She has won an Edgar® Award and Cosmopolitan magazine's "Fun Fearless Fiction" Award, and she is the president of Mystery Writers of America. She teaches a course on justice and fiction at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, her alma mater. She lives in the Philadelphia area.
Lisa Scottoline is the New York Times bestselling author of novels including Look Again, Lady Killer, Think Twice, Save Me and Everywhere That Mary Went. She also writes a weekly column, “Chick Wit,” with her daughter Francesca Serritella, for The Philadelphia Inquirer. The columns have been collected in Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog and My Nest Isn’t Empty, It Just Has More Closet Space. She has won an Edgar® Award and Cosmopolitan magazine’s “Fun Fearless Fiction” Award, and she is the president of Mystery Writers of America. She teaches a course on justice and fiction at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, her alma mater. She lives in the Philadelphia area.
- Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
- Date of Birth:
- July 1, 1955
- Place of Birth:
- Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
- B.A., University of Pennsylvania, 1976; J.D., University of Pennsylvania Law School, 1981
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I enjoyed this novel. Great characters, great plot. can only recommend
I was laughing out loud throughout this book. I love Lisa's down to earth attitude towards the human spirit and experience. Highly recommend to anyone who wants a funny, introspective and enjoyable read.
As a longtime fan of Lisa Scottoline's legal thrillers, I was attracted to this book because I thought it would be articulate & clever & give me insight into this talented writer's personality. I did NOT expect it to give me multiple laugh-out-louds on every page! By the time I had finished the first essay, I had concluded that Christmas shopping for all my women friends had just become very easy. By essay number two I realized I had to share the title with Cindy, Diane, Sharon, Norma, my lunch group, and all my other women friends who were not on the Christmas list. I'll send them a link; they can buy their own book! Heck, by essay number 3, I decided to treat my husband to a readaloud session of Lisa's trip to the emergency room without a bra. It isn't fair not to the share the fun with the men we love! Why are these so good? These are essays about a WOMAN, which the author emphasizes, but they succeed so well because they are at bottom about a HUMAN. The feelings and experiences that Scottoline describes are universal, and I believe they will resonate with people of any age, gender, sexual preference, ethnicity, or socioeconomic status. Everybody needs a laugh. Everybody needs a sense of our common humanity. This book delivers both.
This book is Lisa! It is her true personality which is giving and sincere. She shares her life with her readers. You meet her daughter, Francesca and her mom, Mother Mary. The three generations of women interact wonderfully and we get to go along for the ride. This book is full of laughs and full of inspiration. There are stories about her dogs, pony, and of course, the chickens! If you want a book to lift your spirits, this is the one for you. Enjoy!
Lisa Scattoline is hilarious, and definitely hits many of the same frustrations, situations, successes, and more of being a single mother, ex wife (two times over), daughter of a sometimes difficult mother, home owner, pet lover, fashion reporter, and more! This book made me laugh with each new chapter! Easy and enjoyable reading, I laughed and laughed from the cover to end end of the book. Lisa's observations and recording of her life experiences are so genuine and hilarious that I felt like we could be best friends after I finished the book! I hope to give it to many of my friends for them to enjoy, too!!! I am smiling as I write this remembering many of her terrific chapters. And by the way, Lisa, I am wearing my "boyfriend" jeans which also fit me the best!!!!!!!
I have always been a fan of Lisa Scottoline's writing. I have read a few of her columns and this book is a complilation of those columns, I believe. The chapters are short and very funny. There are some touching chapters but for the most part you will laugh all the way through this book. It is real life with a Scottoline spin. I received it as a gift and gave another as a gift. Mine is making the rounds through my office - I hope to get it back sometime!
I have never laughed out loud so much with a book. This is any easy read that will keep your spirits high. I shared many of the stories with friends and family because they were too funny to keep to myself. I love how she turns her life turmoils into humor!
This book made me laugh and get a tear in my eye too. if you need to be entertained this is the book for you. A book of short stories about real life with humor mixed in. I really enjoyed it.
Lisa Scottoline's newest effort is another great, but very different addition to her previous hits as she departs from her usual fiction style and brings us many slices of real life. The book is a compilation of her Sunday Philadelphia Inquirer columns where she shares her deepest and darkest secrets about all kinds of topics, most of which are laugh out loud funny. We get the skinny on her aversion to Spanx, being caught braless in the ER, dealing with home repair ordeals, and handling the trials and tribulations of a single working woman in the today's world. What also makes this book such a great read is that we see into the real lives of "Mother Mary," (a recurring character in her books who happens to be her actual Mom) and Francesca, her beautiful daughter who also has a bright future in the writing business. Her adventures are comical, insightful and delightful for anyone who has felt the same hits and misses in life. Add this to your "have to read" list now!
GREAT LINES!! This is hilarious!! This book is the perfect medicine to read on a dreary day or when you are a bit down on life or a relationship. A terrific pick-me-up! Scottoline writes about her close relationships with her mother and brother, her daughter, her ex-husbands, her dogs, and just about everyone she knows!! She writes of funny emergency room trips, empty nest syndrome, her daughter's graduation, her move to New York, quotes directly from her daughter, special mother/daughter love, hot flashes. It is such a fun read! It's loaded with funny quotes from her mother that we all can relate to, life lessons and pearls of wisdom you learn having lived so long. What a wonderful time I had reading and laughing! I loved it!
By reading Lisa's book, she has inspired me along with Stephen King to try writing. The easy of her writing is amazing.
I really enjoyed this! It is not just about exhusbands but about life. I left this book feeling good, happy and laughing!
This book was hilarious. I could identify with the Author and even when I couldn't I found this book entertaining and fun. I couldn't put this book down! I recommend it for a light hearted read, that will make you smile.
I loved this book from the minute I picked it up. A very fast read that had me LOL! Feel like I know the author very well now and she would be a fun friend to have!Have reccomended the book to all my friends who are all currently enjoying it.
Lisa Scottoline, better known for her legal thrillers about a female law firm in Philadelphia, PA has collected the best of her Philadelphia Inquirer (newspaper) columns into a book entitled Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog. For those of us who are dog owners and lovers, the title provides a clue to the content (short, funny, and full of dogs). In short 3 page chapters, she runs the gamut of discussion from Thing One and Thing Two (ex-husbands), to Mother Mary (her mother), her daughter Francesca (who wrote several of the chapter/columns), and her numerous (4) dogs, cats (2) and chickens. She can be hysterically funny (the disaster of no bra-wearing), thought provoking (daughter's college graduation or her concern for mother, who lives in Florida), and touching (when she discusses the death of her beloved Golden, Lucy). The reader doesn't have to live in Philadelphia to appreciate this funny, funny book as she alludes to her suburban home, but she never really talks about Philadelphia. The book is easy to put down and pick up as there's no real time line (though it's obvious this runs through a year)or plot. Recommended to anyone who remembers the funny and outrageous Erma Bombeck. Scottoline may be my generation's Erma. By the way, I've heard Lisa Scottoline speak and she's as funny in the book as she is in person!
Cute compilation of her Chick Wit stories.
I laughed and cried through Lisa's short stories - an enjoyable read that any woman who has a mother, is a mother, or has supported herself can relate to.
I have been reading Lisa Scottoline's books for years and have loved them...this, however, is not typical...and I love it even more.....she is insghtful, honest and hilarious...bring on more!!!
This book was such a joy to read! You don't think that famous people have the same day to day troubles as you! However, they do! I found myself laughing out loud and couldn't wait to read the next topic!
What a wild and crazy book. I identified with quite a few of her vignettes. I wish I could have read the book 20 years before she wrote it. I would have saved myself a lot of pain and heartache. I do not have her lifestyle, but I have had quite a few coincidences. It is always good to laugh in the face of frustration. She is a top notch writer and this book should be on every lady’s bookshelf. I admire her intelligence in handling life so well. 89