Wifey

( 60 )

Overview

With more than four million copies sold, Wifey is Judy Blume's hilarious, moving tale of a woman who trades in her conventional wifely duties for her wildest fantasies-and learns a lot about life along the way.

Sandy Pressman is a nice suburban wife whose boredom is getting the best of her. She could be making friends at the club, like her husband keeps encouraging her to do....

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Wifey

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Overview

With more than four million copies sold, Wifey is Judy Blume's hilarious, moving tale of a woman who trades in her conventional wifely duties for her wildest fantasies-and learns a lot about life along the way.

Sandy Pressman is a nice suburban wife whose boredom is getting the best of her. She could be making friends at the club, like her husband keeps encouraging her to do.

Or working on her golf game.

Or getting her hair done.

But for some reason, these things don't interest her as much as the naked man on the motorcycle...

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Editorial Reviews

Michiko Kakutani
If Mrs. Blume's chatty, vernacular style results in quick, digestible reading, her characters' penchant for psychobabble makes the reader feel as though he were paging through the latest self-help text....Mrs. Blume's women come across as narcissists - virtually incapable of talking about anything except their emotional needs and desires. As far as this reader is concerned, they're not smart women, but self-absorbed ones - and highly unpleasant, at that. -- New York Times
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780425206546
  • Publisher: Penguin Group (USA) Incorporated
  • Publication date: 9/6/2005
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 304
  • Sales rank: 400,896
  • Product dimensions: 5.55 (w) x 8.28 (h) x 0.82 (d)

Meet the Author

Judy  Blume

Judy Blume is the author of three adult novels, including Wifey, Smart Women, and the #1 bestseller Summer Sisters. Her classic novels for young readers include Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, the Fudge books (from Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing to Double Fudge) and Forever. More than 75 million copies of her books are in print. In 2004, she was awarded the National Book Award for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters.

Biography

Before Judy Blume, there may have been a handful of books that spoke to issues teens could identify with; but very few were getting down to nitty-gritty stuff like menstruation, masturbation, parents divorcing, being half-Jewish, or deciding to have sex. Now, these were some issues that adolescents could dig into, and Blume’s ability to address them realistically and responsibly has made her one of the most popular – and most banned – authors for young adults.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, published in 1970, was Blume’s third book and the one that established her fan base. Drawing on some of the same things she faced as a sixth grader growing up in Elizabeth, New Jersey, Blume created a sympathetic, first-person portrait of a girl whose family moves to the suburbs as she struggles with puberty and religion. In subsequent classics such as Then Again, Maybe I Won’t, Deenie, Blubber, and Tiger Eyes, Blume wrote about the pain of being different, falling in love, and figuring out one's identity. Usually written in a confessional/diary style, Blume’s books feel like letters from friends who just happen to be going through a very interesting version of the same tortures suffered by their audience.

Blume has also accumulated a great following among the 12-and-under set with her Fudge series, centering on the lives of preteen Peter Hatcher and his hilariously troublesome younger brother, Farley (a.k.a. Fudge). Blume’s books in this category are particularly adept at portraying the travails of siblings, making both sides sympathetic. Her 2002 entry, Double Fudge, takes a somewhat surreal turn, providing the Hatchers with a doppelganger of Fudge when they meet some distant relatives on a trip.

Blume has also had success writing for adults, again applying her ability to turn some of her own sensations into compelling stories. Wifey in 1978 was the raunchy chronicle of a bored suburban housewife’s infidelities, both real and imagined. She followed this up five years later with Smart Women, a novel about friendship between two divorced women living in Colorado; and 1998’s Summer Sisters, also about two female friends.

Blume has said she continually struggles with her writing, often sure that each book will be the last, that she’ll never get another idea. She keeps proving herself wrong with more than 20 books to her credit; hopefully she will continue to do so.

Good To Know

Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing was inspired by an article given to Blume by her babysitter about a toddler who swallowed a small pet turtle. She wrote a picture book introducing Fudge (based on her own then-toddler son), the turtle, and older brother Peter; but it was rejected. A few years later, E. P. Dutton editor Ann Durell suggested that Blume turn the story into a longer book about the Hatcher family. Blume did, and the Fudge legacy was born.

Blume is not an author without conflict about her station in life. She says on her web site that, as part of her "fantasy about having a regular job," she has a morning routine that involves getting fully dressed and starting at 9 a.m. She has also getting out of writing altogether."After I had written more than ten books I thought seriously about quitting," she writes. "I felt I couldn't take the loneliness anymore. I thought I would rather be anything but a writer. But I've finally come to appreciate the freedom of writing. I accept the fact that it's hard and solitary work."

Blume's book about divorce, It's Not the End of the World, proved ultimately to be closer to her own experience than she originally imagined. Her own marriage was in trouble at the time, but she couldn't quite face it. "In the hope that it would get better I dedicated this book to my husband," she writes in an essay. "But a few years later, we, too, divorced. It was hard on all of us, more painful than I could have imagined, but somehow we muddled through and it wasn't the end of any of our worlds, though on some days it might have felt like it."

Her most autobiographical book is Starring Sally J. Friedman as Herself, says Blume. "Sally is the kind of kid I was at ten," Blume says on her web site.

Blume keeps setting Fudge aside, readers keep bringing him back. The sequel Superfudge was written after tons of fans wrote in asking for more of Farley Hatcher; again more begging led to Fudge-a-Mania ten years later. Blume planned never to write about Fudge again, but grandson Elliott was a persistent pesterer (just like Fudge), and got his way with 2002's Double Fudge.

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    1. Hometown:
      New York's Upper East Side, Key West, and Martha's Vineyard
    1. Date of Birth:
      February 12, 1938
    2. Place of Birth:
      Elizabeth, New Jersey
    1. Education:
      B.S. in education, New York University, 1961
    2. Website:

First Chapter

Chapter 1 Margo slid open the glass door leading to the patio outside her bedroom. She set the jacuzzi pump for twenty minutes, tested the temperature of the water with her left foot, tossed her robe onto the redwood platform, then slowly lowered herself into the hot tub, allowing the swirling water to surround her body.

The late August night air was clear and crisp. The mountains were lit by an almost full moon. The only sounds were Margo's own breathing and the gentle gurgling of the water in the tub. She inhaled deeply to get the full aroma of the cedar as it steamed up, closed her eyes, and felt the tensions of the day disappear.

"Margo..."

The voice, coming out of the stillness of the night, startled her. She looked around, but all she saw were the barrels of overgrown petunias and geraniums surrounding the hot tub. She never remembered to pick off the dead flowers, but that didn't stop them from flourishing.

"Over here..." the voice said.

He was standing on the other side of her weathered wood fence. She could barely see him.

"What are you doing?" she asked sharply.

"Just wondering if you'd like to have a drink. I'm Andrew Broder. I'm staying in the house next door."

"I know who you are," Margo snapped. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's impolite to spy on your neighbor?"

"I'm not spying," he said.

"And that eleven is too late to come over for a drink?"

"Is it?" he asked.

"Yes, it is."

"I'm a night person," he said. "It feels early to me."

"Well, it's not. Some of us have to get up and go to work in the morning." She expected him to apologize and then to leave. She looked away. Certainly she was curious about him but no more so than any of her friends' ex-husbands. Last Saturday she had seen him struggling with grocery bags. As he had walked from his truck to his house one had torn and everything had come crashing out, including a carton of eggs. Margo had watched from her upstairs deck, where she'd been reading. He'd stood there quietly, shaking his head and muttering. Then he'd cleaned up the mess, climbed back into his truck, and an hour later had returned with two more bags of groceries.

And on Sunday she'd heard him laughing with his daughter, Sara. She'd thought how nice it is for a father to enjoy his kid that way. And then she'd felt a pang because she never heard her kids laughing with Freddy any more. She didn't even know if they did laugh together.

"Look," he said, and Margo realized that he was still standing by the fence. "Francine said that..."

"Francine?"

"I guess you call her B.B....she said that if I needed to borrow sugar I could ask you."

"Is that what you want then, sugar at eleven o'clock at night?"

"No," he said. "I told you, I thought we could have a drink." He held up a bottle.

"What is it?" Margo asked. "It's dark. I can't see that far."

"Courvoisier. I've got the glasses too."

Margo laughed. "You're certainly prepared, aren't you?"

"I try to be."

"The gate's unlatched, " she said.

And then another voice went off in her head. Margo, Margo...what are you doing? I'm not doing anything.

Bullshit.

Look, he's not a killer, he's not a rapist, I know that much.

You know more than that. You know why you shouldn't let him in.

It's just for a drink.

I've heard that before.

I'm just being neighborly.

Some people never learn.

He opened the gate and walked across the small yard to the hot tub. He sat down at the edge and poured them each a drink. "To neighbors," he said, lifting his glass.

"It's dangerous to drink in a hot tub," Margo told him. "The alcohol does something...it can kill you." She dipped her tongue into the glass, tasting the brandy, then set it down. Her body was submerged in the foaming water and the steam had made her black hair curl and mat around her face.

"You look different up close," he said.

"Up close?"

"I've seen you a few times, walking from your car to your house."

"Oh." So, he'd been watching her too.

"You look like the girl on the Sun Maid Raisin box."

"I'm hardly a girl."

"Her older sister then."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I like raisins," he said.

Margo tried to remember how the girl on the raisin box looked, but all she could picture was a floppy red bonnet.

"I've never been in a hot tub," he said. "What's it like?"

"Hot," she told him. "Some people can't take it."

"I'd like to give it a try," he said.

"There are several hot tub clubs in town, but Boulder Springs is the best. You should call in advance. They get booked up."

"I was thinking more of now," he said.

"Now? In my hot tub?"

"I wouldn't mind," he said, pulling his sweatshirt over his head.

"Hey...wait a minute..."

He kicked off his sandals, loosened his belt buckle, and dropped his jeans. He wore bikini underpants. Margo was suspicious of men who wore boxer shorts. Freddy had worn boxer shorts, had insisted that they be ironed. "Wait a minute..."she said again, as he stepped out of his underwear. She hadn't looked directly at him as he had undressed, but she'd seen enough to know that he was tall and lean and very appealing. She'd seen that while she'd been watching him last weekend. She'd seen that while he'd been fully dressed. "What do you think you're doing?"

He slid into the tub, facing her. "I thought you said okay..."

"No, I didn't say that."

"You want me to get out?"

"I didn't want you to get in."

"Oh, I misunderstood."

"Yes, you did."

"But now that I'm here, is it okay? Can I try it for a few minutes?"

"I suppose a few minutes can't hurt."

When the jacuzzi timer went off he climbed out and reset it for another twenty minutes. But before it went off again he told her he was feeling light-headed. Margo urged him to get out quickly, before he fainted. He did, and just in time. As it was she had to wrap a blanket around him, revive him with a glass of Gatorade, and help him back to his place. It wasn't easy getting him up the steep flight of outside stairs leading to the apartment over the garage.

"I warned you," she said, as he stumped onto the sofa in his living room.

"It was worth it," he told her.

"You'd better take a couple of asprin and get some sleep."

"Can I try it again tomorrow?" he asked.

"I don't think so. It doesn't seem to agree with you."

"I'll get used to it."

"I've got two kids, you know."

"I've got one."

"Mine are teenagers."

"Mine's twelve."

"Mine have been away all summer, visiting their father. They're coming home tomorrow."

"I'd like to meet them."

"Don't be too sure."

"You're very defensive about them, aren't you?"

"Me, defensive about my children?"

"You have beautiful breasts," he said.

Margo looked down and flushed. Her robe was open to the waist. She pulled it closed. "Another piece of useful information," she said. "Hot tubbing is not a sexual experience."

"I'll try to remember that," he said.

"Goodnight," she told him.

"Goodnight, Margo."


The next afternoon while Margo was driving to Denver to meet her children at the airport, she thought about last night and her strange encounter with Andrew Broder. She never should have let him into her hot tub. It was going to be tricky living next door to him for the next three months now.

Her impulsive behavior, though she was well aware of it, continued to cause her problems.

Didn't I warn you?

Okay...okay, so you warned me.

Margo knew that B.B. was divorced, but unlike other divorced women, B.B. never complained about her former husband. Never said a word about how cheap he was or how miserable a father. Never talked about how he ran around with girls young enough to be his daughter or the fact that he had no sense of humor or that he was colder than a fish. Never laughed bitterly about the lack of style in his lovemaking. B.B. never shared the details of how or why her marriage to Andrew had failed and Margo didn't feel close enough to ask. Until last May, until the day that B.B. had called Andrew a fucking bastard, Margo had never even heard B.B. say his name.

It had probably been a mistake to arrange for him to rent the apartment in the Hathaway house. B.B. should not have asked for her help in finding him a place to live. But what's done is done, Margo thought.

She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, wondering what her children would think of her new layered haircut. For years she had worn her dark hair shoulder length, parted in the middle, and blown dry, but this summer she had felt ready for a change.

"Look," Stan, the hair stylist, had said, assessing her, you might as well take advantage of what you've got...good skin, nice eyes, and naturally wavy hair."

That's it? Margo had thought. After forty years that's what it comes down to?

After her haircut she had vowed to let her hair grow back and never cut it again. But now she had to admit, it did show off her eyes.

"We should have named her Hazel," her father used to joke, "for those big eyes."

"Who knew she was going to have such eyes," her mother would say.

"You have unbelievably ugly eyes," James had said, making her laugh. James had been her first lover and something about Andrew Broder reminded her of him. It could have been the way he looked directly at her or the way he laughed, heartily, without holding back.

Margo had met James when she was seventeen. He was a tall, lanky college freshman, wildly funny, yet sweet and tender, a perfect combination. It was his wry sense of humor that kept them going during their first awkward attempts at making love and from then on their lovemaking was filled as much with fun and laughter as with passion, which wasn't all that bad, Margo realized later. In fact, there was a lot to be said for it.

James had died of pancreatic cancer two and a half years after they met. She had not even known that he was sick. Her mother had come across the obituary. James Schoenfeld, twenty, following a brief illness. Even though Margo and James weren't going together anymore, hadn't seen each other for sixteen months, his death had so affected her that she had not made love again until she and Freddy were married.

At the time Margo could not stop thinking about the night she and James had broken up. She could not stop thinking about how she had flirted with another boy at the fraternity party, had actually slipped him a piece of paper with her phone number on it. James had consoled himself by chug-a-lugging six-pack of Miller's. Then he'd passed out on the floor. Margo had had no choice but to let the other boy, Roger, drive her home. The next afternoon James had come over, looking pale and acting sheepish, and he had apologize for his behavior. They'd gone for a walk to the pond, but she had not let him kiss her. "It's over," she'd said. "I'm not going to see you anymore."

"Why?" he'd asked. "That's all I want to know. Why?"

"I don't know," she'd said. "It's just something that I feel...or don't feel..."

James had turned and walked straight into the pond, fully dressed, his hands over his head. She had stood on the grassy bank, yelling and screaming and laughing until tears stung her eyes. Maybe she did love him, she'd thought. But there were so many boys to love. She wasn't ready to love just one.

Her mother urged her not to confuse sadness with guilt. It was not her fault that James had died. Her father cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair. Her sisters, one older, one younger, stood in the doorway to her bedroom, silent.

Margo went to the funeral by herself. After paying her respects to James's parents and his brother she asked who the small, long-haired girl was, the one who was weeping hysterically, and his brother said, "That's Rachel. She and James were going together."

Margo nodded and bit her lip. James had replaced her. Well, what had she expected? She approached Rachel. "I'm Margo," she said. "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am."

Rachel stopped crying and looked at Margo. "He told me about you," she said. "About how you were his first girlfriend. It was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

Not so long, Margo thought.

"We were pinned," Rachel said. On Rachel's black dress was the Phi Ep pin that Margo had once dreamed of wearing.

She still had dreams about James. James walking into the pond. She would call, "Come back, James. Let's start over..." but it was always too late. She would awaken with tears on her cheeks.

Freddy had been as different from James as any young man Margo had met. Perhaps that was why she had married him.

She had been married to Freddy for fourteen years and had never been unfaithful, although she had certainly thought about it. After Freddy, there was Leonard, and after Leonard, her boss, Michael Benson. Then, a series of brief affairs, some lasting months, some weeks, some just the night. There had been twelve of these men, from a physiology professor at Colorado University, to a Buddhist at Naropa, to more than one construction worker. And then, this summer, for five days, there had been Eric.

Margo kept a list of her lovers at the office, in her top desk drawer, the one that locked. She wondered if other women did the same. She wondered what her children would think if she died suddenly and they had to go through her papers. There were seventeen names on her list. Seventeen men. Not so many lovers for a divorced woman of forty, she thought. She knew some women who barhopped every weekend, picking up men for the night. They could wind up with fifty lovers in a year. She'd been divorced for five years. Multiply that by fifty and she could have had two and fifty lovers by now. She laughed aloud at the idea of two hundred and fifty lovers. It seemed to her both wildly funny and grotesque, and then, terribly sad and she bit her lip to keep from crying, the idea was so depressing.

She switched on the car radio and rolled down her window A piece of brush blew across the highway, rested briefly on the hood of her car, then flew off. The end of summer, Margo thought.

It had been a full summer. She'd worked long hours on a new project with Michael Benson, a complex of solar condominiums in town. She'd taken only one break, a week in Chaco Canyon, where she had gone to be alone, completely and absolutely alone for the first time in her life. It was to be a test of self. To prove -- she wasn't sure -- that she could survive on her own, she supposed. But on her second day out she had met Eric, twenty years old and irresistible. Eric, she decided later, was to be the last of her impulsive sexual encounters. Because afterwards she always felt empty. Empty, lonely, and afraid.

She would wait the next time she felt tempted and make an effort instead to find a steady man. In the meantime she would concentrate on her work, which was going well, and on her kids, who were coming home.

She had been up early this morning to cook their favorite dish, a tangy chicken in rum sauce. She hoped it would be a happy homecoming, hoped the new school year would be an improvement over the last one. She was going to try. She was going to try to give them more time, more understanding, to be there when they needed to talk, to be less judgmental, to be the warm and gentle earth mother she had always wanted to be, yet never seemed able to pull off. This would be her last chance with Stuart. He would graduate next spring, then go off to college.

And with Michelle, she didn't know. She didn't think she could take another year of hostility. Maybe when the plane landed she would find that Michelle was not on it. That Michelle had stayed in New York with Freddy and Aliza. What would she do then? Jump on the next plane to New York and drag Michelle back? She wasn't sure. If only Michelle could understand that you don't quit just because of rough times. That you work through your problems not by shutting out the people who love you most, but by letting them in to help and comfort you.

Margo turned off the Valley Highway, then followed the signs to the airport. She was twenty minutes early. Good. She'd have time for a quick cup of coffee before the plane landed. Time to relax for a moment before her reentry into motherhood.


Later that night, after the welcome home dinner, Margo showered and put on the robe that her friend Clare had given to her last week for her fortieth birthday. God, the feel of the silk against her nakedness. Yards and yards of pure silk, the color of a young girl's blush.

"When you put it on in the morning you're supposed to glow," Clare had said.

"That's what the saleswoman told me, anyway. So what do you think?"

"I think it's not the kind of robe you put on in the morning," Margo had said," unless it's the morning after..."

They had laughed over that.

There were rumors around town that Clare was part Navajo, rumors that Clare enjoyed more than anyone. And when she played it to the hilt she did look like some gigantic exotic half-breed, with her dark, silver -- streaked hair, two slashes of color accenting her high cheekbones, deeply tanned skin, and ropes of turquoise and coral wrapped around her neck. Had Margo met Clare ten years earlier she might not have taken the time to get to know her. She might have put Clare down as an oil heiress from West Texas, with an accent so offensive you couldn't possibly get past the first sentence.

"When I celebrated my fortieth birthday, last year," Clare had said, "I bought myself a sheer black nightgown and a feather boa."

Margo was reminded that she still had a drawerful of sheer black things, left over from her time with Leonard, but she hadn't worn them lately. Hadn't even thought about them. Too bad.

Leonard had been one of the reasons Margo had left New York three years ago. She'd been running away from a no -- win affair with him, running away from Freddy and his new bride, and finally, running away from herself, hoping to find a new self in the mountains, and if not exactly finding one, then creating one.

She'd decided on Boulder because of her interest in solar design and was lucky enough to land a job with a small architectural firm, Benson and Gould, based on her portfolio, a letter of recommendation from her boss in New York, and an interview that had gone very well. Later, she'd found out that Gould was spending more than half his time in the Bahamas, that Benson had a neurotic fear of responsibility, and that they had been overjoyed when she'd accepted their job offer.

Margo moved to Boulder in mid-August and, with her half of the cash from the sale of the co-op on Central Park West, bought a house on a dirt road, tucked away against the mountainside. A funky, upside-down kind of house, with the kitchen and living room on the second floor, to take advantage of the view of the Flatirons, and the bedrooms on the first, with a hot tub outside the master, which is what really sold her. The realtor, a woman called B.B., assured Margo that the house could only go up in value.

Two months after Margo moved in, B.B. introduced her to Clare, who was looking for an architect to renovate her gallery.


Now Margo walked down the hall to say goodnight to her children. Michelle was sitting up in bed reading Lady Chatterley's Lover. "How do you like it?" Margo asked.

"I'm only reading it because I have to...it's on my summer reading list," Michelle said defensively.

Margo laughed. "Not the book...this..." She twirled around the room, showing off the silk robe, keeping time to the music coming from Michelle's stereo. It sounded like Joan Armatrading, but Margo couldn't be sure. Michelle was very into female vocalists singing about the female experience.

"God, Mother...what is that thing you're wearing?"

"It's a robe. Clare gave it to me for my birthday. Isn't it gorgeous?"

"It's a weird gift for one divorced woman to give to another. She could have given you a painting from her gallery. We have a lot of bare white walls."

"I think she wanted to make it a personal gift."

" Yeah...well, it's personal all right."

"So how do you like it?"

"It's okay, I suppose, if you're into silks and satins."

"I meant the book."

Michelle looked up at Margo, her mouth set defiantly, ready to do battle. "I told you...it's assigned reading."

"I know that. But you can still either like it or not like it." Margo warned herself to stop. This conversation was going no place.

Michelle closed the book and rested it on her lap. She gave Margo a hostile look. "It's an interesting book...in an old-fashioned way."

In an old-fashioned way, Margo thought. That was hard to take. She remembered when she'd read Lady Chatterley. She had been in college and she'd found the sex scenes so steamy she'd locked herself in the hall bathroom and stood under the shower for an hour. "D. H. Lawrence lived in the southwest...in Taos. Did you know that?"

"Of course I know that, Mother. But this particular book is set in England."

"Yes," Margo said, "I know." She approached the bed and tried to drop a kiss on Michelle's cheek, but Michelle squirmed away.

"Please, Mother...don't be disgusting."

"Goodnight," Margo said, trying to sound pleasant, trying not to let Michelle see that she was getting to her.

"Goodnight," Michelle answered, opening her book again. "And Mother...you really should do something about your breath. Have you tried Lavoris?"

"I had chili for lunch."

"Well, you don't have to advertise."

Margo sighed and left the room.

She did not understand how or why Michelle had turn into this impossible creature. Margo would never voluntarily live with such an angry, critical person. Never. But when it was your own child you had no choice. So she kept on trying, kept hoping for the best, kept waiting for the sweetness to come back.

She passed the bathroom that separated her children's bedrooms and stopped in front of Stuart's closed door. She knocked.

"Yeah?" Stuart called over the latest album from the Police.

"Just wanted to say goodnight," Margo said.

"Yeah...okay...goodnight."

Margo had been speechless when she had first seen Stuart at the airport that afternoon. It wasn't just the haircut, but the clothes. A Polo shirt, a sweater tied over his shoulders, a tennis racquet in one hand, a canvas duffel in the other. He looked as if he'd stepped right out of some Ralph Lauren ad in the Sunday Times. She'd had to suppress a giggle. She wasn't sure if she was glad or sorry that her son had turned into a preppie over the summer.

"Where'd you get all the new clothes?" Margo had asked him, driving back from Denver.

"Dad took him shopping...to East Hampton," Michelle said.

"I can talk for myself, Mouth," Stuart said. "And I don't think there's anything wrong with taking a little pride in the way you look. Even Mother has a new haircut."

"I noticed," Michelle said.

Before Margo had a chance to ask Michelle what she thought of it, Stuart said, "I want to get my college applications in early. Dad said he'll take a week off in October and we'll do the tour and interviews together."

Margo felt a pang. She'd always thought she would be the one to take him to his college interviews. She had saved a week of vacation for just that purpose.

"I'm thinking of applying to Amherst, early decision."

"Why Amherst?" Margo asked.

"You know Dad's friend, Wally Lewis?"

"Yes."

"He went there...and he said he made contacts at school that have lasted a lifetime."

Margo felt nauseated. This was too much. "Really, Stuart," she said, "you're beginning to sound exactly like your father. "

"What's wrong with that?" Stuart asked. "He is my male role model, you know. Besides, it's time to think about my future. I've grown up a lot this summer, Mother."

Margo went upstairs to the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of brandy. She wished she didn't feel so alone. She wished she had an ally in her own home. "Here's to you, kid," she said, toasting herself. "You're going to need it."

Copyright © 1983 by Judy Blume

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 60 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 9, 2006

    so disappointing

    First of all - I can't believe that 13 and 14 year olds are reading this book or would even be interested in the subject matter. I read Summer Sister's and enjoyed it so I wanted to read another of Judy Blume's adult novels. This is one of the few books I finally gave up on. I just couldn't get into it - none of the character's was likeable or sympathetic. But I guess I am in the minority as this book got alot of good reviews. I will stick to romance novels as they make me happy

    3 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 2, 2005

    Dare you to put this one down!!

    Great reading. I started reading on a 8 hour road trip. I couldn't put this book down. Good thing my mother in law didn't ask what I was reading! Definately a great read that I hated to put down once we got to our destination--SO I DIDN't. I finished it and then had to pass it on to my best friend. I had to tell her all about it and what happens...just not all the good parts. I would LOVE to see a movie based on this book. Bravo Judy Blume!!!

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 5, 2012

    A

    This is not one of Blume's better books. I was disappointed since "Summer Sister's" was such a good book.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 5, 2012

    Hmmm

    Is this a good boook for 9 year olds

    2 out of 13 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 30, 2007

    First Adult Book I ever Read

    Long story short I was a very advanced reader at a very young age and while now if I read this book I wouldn't be that impressed. At the age of 9 this was a very tantalizing and eye opening book. I will always remember Wifey by Judy Blume as my VERY FIRST ADULT BOOK.

    2 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 5, 2001

    Watch your kids!!

    I was a big Judy Blume fan as a child, and as an unsuspecting 11-year-old, I picked up 'Wifey' at a yard sale. Needless to say, I was quite surprised when I started reading it. My parents were even more surprised when they found it in my room. Overall, the book was somewhat enjoyable if you're looking for something racey, but not a great novel. It lacks character development and has an extremely predictable storyline. If you're just looking to get turned on, you're better off renting a porno.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 15, 2012

    Filth

    Are all of Blume's adult books about adultery and filth?

    1 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 5, 2012

    Hello, it's Judy Blume...duh, it's a great book

    What more is there to say? Judy Blume writes like no other.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 10, 2003

    Can u say NAUGHTY!!!!!!!

    This is probably Judy's most funny (and dirty) book yet!!!!!!! I loved it. And it deals with what alot of women are facing today.........divorce. It was a good ending I was sure sandy would leave Norman!!!! I just have to say one thing to Judy, KEEP 'EM COMING'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 29, 2012

    good readin

    This book was different then what I usually read. I like how the lonely house wife finally figures out what is most important in her life.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 10, 2012

    For kids

    I didnt read the whole reveiw this for kids

    0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 26, 2012

    Outstanding

    Though not for the younger kids that are newly introduced to the reading world, I thouht it was a great lesson and learning experience. The learning experience mostly because not everything Judy Blume writes is entirely child appropriate. My grade for the book: A+.

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  • Posted October 22, 2011

    Very good book

    I love this book.It is very good.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 20, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    About a Housewife with a Dirty Mind

    This is my first adult book by Judy Blume. I remember reading her books when I was younger, and when i found out that she had adult books I was excited to read them! However, this book was not as exciting as I would have hoped.

    "Wifey" is about a housewife named Sandy with a very dirty mind. From a boring marriage, to motor cycle flashers, one would expect so much drama and excitement! However, I would have liked to know what happened, there was just so much that was open ended. Who was the man on the motor cycle? What did Sandy and Norm end up doing with their marriage? Maybe there will be another book to let readers know?? One can only hope...

    Not a bad book. So pick it up for fun!

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  • Posted August 10, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Disappointed.....

    This book was recommended through a friend who knows I tend to like my delightfully trashy romance novels, especially in the summer. I must say though that I was very disappointed in Wifey. While the book does have a relatively "trashy" storyline, I just could not get myself fully into the book. There are a lot of flashbacks that occur which made it difficult to follow at times because it jumped around. Definitely not a favorite for me.

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 14, 2005

    i loved it

    i loved this book. i think this is the third best book she written. the first to are forever and summer sisters. she is a brillint writter. i cant wait to read the next book she writes. i love her young adults books. she lets teenagers know about life snd sex. i read her books all the time. her romantic books keep u reading all night long.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 9, 2005

    Engaging, couldn't put it down!

    Amazing book. I read Summer Sisters and knew I had to read more by Blume. I finished the book in two days, it was hard to put down.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 15, 2004

    intriguing

    This was definately a page turner. Any woman who has every loved and devoted her life to a man and a family knows how Sandy feels. You never forget the things you missed out on and how your life could have been.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 6, 2004

    Sexy, entertaining, real life type of story

    I liked this book. It was sexy and fresh. I read the reviews before buying and still bought it because of her book Summer Sisters. This is a different story and refreshing. Of course they stay together, don't they usually.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 26, 2003

    Shine a light

    I hadn't read a book in a very long time, and I finished this book in 1 1/2 days! I couldn't put it down. A must read for women that somethimes get bored in everday life. Everyone wonders 'what if'.

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