Okay, lover girl. Your new man has you startled, staggered, and swept off your feet. Now what? You know who you are. The store clerk caught you scooping up beauty tips and slipping Cosmo magazines under the milk and potatoes in your grocery cart. And you are busy checking in at yoga studios to tighten your arm muscles and buttocks, announcing, “He may be the one” to anyone who will listen. Where is this going? Down the aisle or down in flames?Cinderella Has Cellulite offers a welcome and realistic look at relationships when Prince Charming suddenly walks into your life. Wild satire abounds in this hilarious, off-the-wall take on his friends, your friends, his ex, the in-laws, and everything in between. A must read for last wives and women everywhere!
|Publisher:||Greenleaf Book Group, LLC|
|Product dimensions:||5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.50(d)|
About the Author
Donna Arp Weitzman is a wife, mother, and businesswoman who enjoys writing and a good pair of Manolo Blahniks. She and her husband Herb live in Dallas, Texas, where they enjoy spending time with family and friends. Donna earned her BSE and MSE in Counseling from Midwestern State University and completed the Harvard Business School OPM Management Program. Donna has served as a mayor and leader in local city government and continues to serve the greater Dallas community in a variety of civic and cultural roles. However, it’s the lessons Donna has learned in the school of life that she most wants to share with others. Cinderella Has Cellulite is Donna’s first book. Her writing has previously been published as a columnist for The News and Times, Tri-Cities, owned by The Dallas Morning News. As a frequent public speaker, she enjoys making others laugh and opening their eyes to a new perspective on some of life’s most challenging experiences.
Read an Excerpt
Cinderella Has Cellulite
And Other Musings From a Last Wife
By Donna Arp Weitzman
Greenleaf Book Group PressCopyright © 2014 Howard Bond Media, LLC
All rights reserved.
Blinded by Love
Okay, Lover Girl. Your New Man has you startled, staggered, and swept off your feet! The store clerk caught you scooping up beauty tips and slipping Cosmo magazines under the milk and potatoes in your grocery cart. You are busy checking in at yoga studios to tighten your arm muscles and buttocks and announcing, "He may be The One" to anyone who will listen.
Lingering over martinis with one of your girlfriends, you can hardly breathe as she asks, "You have a New Man?"
Before you begin giddily describing your new Sweetheart, you secretly wonder what her reaction will be. Will she be delighted for me? Or search my purse during a bathroom break, steal his Facebook address and "friend" him, offering to meet him for coffee when it's convenient?
But the news is so good you don't care. This cannot wait. Besides, you have no reason to suspect treachery. None of your past losers have even merited a yawn from her, and you are so tired of her pity. Wait 'til she hears this!
"Well, tell me," she coos, expecting another of your boring tales about the latest dud. You smugly smile and confess that there is so much to say you don't know where to start! But both of you know you'll try. Sex is first. You practically choke on your giggle. "He is so sexy — Angelina would leave Brad."
Meanwhile, she is frantically wondering if she can find your college roommate's number on her cell phone, who is today one of her trusted therapists. You can hear it now, "Hilda? I'm here with our Mouse and she's delusional. I think she needs your evaluation."
Satisfied with the impact of your sexual analogy, you go on. "And He is sooooo funny. I turn off Jimmy Kimmel just to listen to his diatribes."
Your friend shares a weak giggle, not giving up on scheduling your upcoming $200 per hour visit with Dr. Help. Like the song says, she thinks you've been lonely too long!
"And smart," you continue. "This guy could upstage Bill Gates. He could have founded Microsoft, but it was not his cup of tea. Instead, He perfected his pecs and challenged Andrew Agassi at the Four Seasons bar.
At this, you say with a lovesick sigh, "I can't wait to see him in his tennis whites!"
Your girlfriend's suspicion is growing and she's thinking, I doubt I'll want anything to do with the loser. That does it. With a disgusted huff, she slips off to the bathroom, ready to speed dial emergency services and report a lovesick sex kitten on the loose.
You clench your handbag and get ready to leave upon her return. You can discern her fake smile — she is eaten up with jealousy! She will be the last one to meet my Man, you tell yourself on the way home. He must be firmly in your loving arms before she attempts to pull him into her overly enhanced bazookas. No one will come between you and Sir Galahad!
If He's Rich, You're a Witch
Statistics never lie. Money is likely one of the reasons you are now positioned to assume the Last Wife's place. Doesn't the Bible tell us, "The love of money is the root of all evil"? You are about to find out! During your necking sessions with your new Rock, your Savior, and the Man of your Dreams (who was the man of Her dreams, and maybe a few before Her) He vows to you, and you to Him, "Money will never be an issue for us!"
When you exchange these words, be aware of your body at that point. The tightness in your jaw is not because of the TMJ you developed during your last life as a Last Wife (or potential Last Wife). That locked jaw is your brain telling you that you only wish it were so! This could be where you fall for your first big lie. Rest assured, Dreamboat is not oblivious to the almighty dollar! Whether you assumed your Last Wife position by death or divorce, you can be certain that money will be an issue.
Unless you discovered your Saint locked in a Tibetan monastery, you can bet He has money issues. If there's a lot of money to fret over, rest assured his concerns are not his alone. Whether He has secretly stashed stacks of greenbacks in a posh Switzerland account, or the non-descript vehicle circling his street turns out to be the private investigator employed by the last, Last Wife trying to nail him for past-due child support for his Precious Ones, He has money issues!
If you and your Honey are at a five-star dinner with the CEO of a New York City bank, you can bet these two discussed his millions earlier in the day. The greedy banker made his point, "How can we make sure it rots in my vault never to be touched by her manicured fingers? After all, money is meant to be inherited by your Precious Ones."
Your Scrooge realized, "He's right! This must not include any Tiny Tim not conceived through my loins. I've been successful in my own right as a man, and my Precious Ones stand to inherit!"
Whether or not you accept it, money has a lot to do with how you are treated as the Last Wife. If Moneybags has already implemented an ironclad prenup that will control your every move, then whether He has pecs the size of Arnold, or the buzzards make a daily pass by the house just to see when his stretcher is rolled out for a potential feeding, money will be your soulmate.
So face it. If He's rich, you are a witch. I think that pretty much sums it up.
Ties That Bind
If you are one of the fortunate ones whose heretofore committed Stud Muffin has been lavishing you with over-the-top booty bounty, this could be bad. Step on the bathroom scale and record your fighting weight. You may need to bulk up for the arm wrestling and body blows that are looming in your future. The La Perla lingerie that He so deliriously delivered on Friday as you deftly slipped into your dancing shoes may be inadequate for the next phase of relationship bliss.
Once in the throes of his unparalleled charm and cunning remarks about your sexy smile, you may accidentally overlook it when He whispers, "We are going to need a prenup." Later, of course, you will replay every moment of the evening in your head, including his offhand remark. Did you hear him say we need a prenup? Your mind may jump to The Donald. Trump is probably the only one who will need another prenup. Surely, not my Man-Angel?
Your mind is buzzing, and the room is spinning. Suddenly, you realize the Rat has slipped something into the multiple martinis He insisted you swallow. You try to regain your composure even as your red La Perlas start pinching your cellulite. Of course, in the initial days of your courtship He assured you, "I don't see any cellulite, Honey." You suspect that He has since checked you out in the glaring sunlight and quietly shaved off one third of any assets He would share with you in the future. He knows that in order to have blissful consummation night after night, He will need to spring for your liposuction. And He happens to know a good plastic surgeon. This man is no fool!
A tear comes to your eye as you think, I am in over my head! This is a good time to think about the one person you admire the most, your yoga instructor. She has prepared you for this moment. In times of extreme stress, you have learned to take deep, cleansing breaths ... now, do it! With each labored breath, your devious Dinner Mate will simply think you are hot for him! This is good; let him think it.
The Sly Devil breathes deeply also, but his is a sigh of relief as He tells himself, If she puts up a fight at some later date, my lawyers will do all the dirty work. I will just remind her that she affirmed her cooperation. "But, Honey, don't you remember, we agreed the night I gave you the red lacy bra?"
What do you do now? You pray. You wait. You try to find your lawyer. Where is he? At Gold's Gym again? Don't begrudge him — this could work in your favor because he will need big muscles to protect you.
Still sitting at dinner, you suddenly hear an ominous craaack — is it a crack in your relationship, or is it just the term his lawyers will use to gain position and bargaining power when they tell your Prince Charming (or Don Juan) that you might be "cracking up"?
They'll say, "As your lawyers, we must tell you we believe you should shave another third from your assets because she is going to need therapy!"
And they may be right!
Rings and Bling
Is your engagement ring bigger than Hers? Everyone is going to ask. If that is the case, do you strut around with your big diamond shining in Her kids' faces? You know the question the Ex is dying to ask — "What kind of ring did Daddy get her?"
If your friends mistake your engagement ring for a crystal paperweight, and your body weight increases by a percentage point once it's on your finger, it might be said of you, "She's a gold digger."
Everyone will think you hit pay dirt before the big day. You can bet that after you ran into Her old girlfriends at the deli they whipped out an iPhone and asked Siri to dial up his Ex.
"You won't believe it!" they'll chirp. "Her ring is the size of a strawberry! Keep your eyes open — your alimony check is in jeopardy. No way can this joker pay you and pay for that ring. Call your lawyer!"
If, on the other hand, He suggests a crafty strategy like, "Honey, let's buy matching bands," the cheap rascal is probably trying to buy you off. What can you say to that without looking as if you really are a scheming gold digger?
"Okay ..." you gulp weakly. This is especially painful if you have already discovered that your True Love mortgaged the farm to buy his Last Wife the Elizabeth Taylor Hope Diamond! Does He just not love you enough? You choke back the tears.
Your Sly Lover may even decide that you have no right to determine the 4 Cs of his purchase. The cut is irrelevant in his mind, and clarity, color, and carat weight are not vital to his financing plan. One night, He ceremoniously slips it on your finger during his emotional declaration, "I will love you forever!" You suspect there might be a stone somewhere on the top of your fourth finger, so you feign being overcome by your love for him and slink off to the bathroom where the light is better.
If He thinks this little nothing will do, just wait 'til after the wedding, you say to yourself. Upgrading that puppy will be your first order of business. Your Saturdays will be spent designing your one-year anniversary ring — that is, if He ever wants to have sex again!
Cougars and Kittens
So, you have taken the road less traveled and fallen for a young and studly Ladykiller, still wet behind the ears and other unmentionable places. My, my, my. How shall you handle this, you wanton Jezebel?
Every time you jump giggling into bed, knowing this romp has the potential for a half marathon, does the Pope later invade your pleasant dreams with a decidedly disappointed frown? Can you detect his stern admonishment amidst the pleasant sensations still lingering in your head from the last lively session with your tender Beefcake?
Does the pontiff think you're much too old for this emerging tot? It's true — you could be his mother, or at least a much older sibling. You better stop this lustful behavior and repent before your sins of the flesh are too visible to your brethren!
The Pope is right! you admit, tossing and turning until the morning hours. The only place you can win is when you are cavorting with your budding Adonis. Everywhere you turn, you are screwed (albeit in a different place)!
Your girlfriends' frequent trips to the powder room during the breathless descriptions of your bedroom frolics are not due to weakened bladders. They simply need a chance to reapply makeup over the tear tracks. When you confess, "He's so fit, I don't think He ever gets tired!" they may smile, but their envy cannot be concealed as they reflect on their Mr. Right waiting for them at home.
They may even wonder if your Budding Beast is just simpleminded. Surely He can see her need for Botox, one thinks. Another silently cries, She needs it a lot more than I do. What gives?
The general, unspoken consensus at your regular 9:00 a.m. Starbucks get-togethers is that you may be his Mrs. Robinson at night, but you'll be his Maggie May in the harshness of morning. A few Sunday mornings sans dull hangovers and they're figuring He'll dump you.
She'll get what she asked for! they conclude as you naively head to the counter to pick up your skinny latte. Who does she think she is? And yet, you can take heart because even Jimmy Fallon's monologue won't be able to distract from their unseemly task of faking yet another orgasm later that night.
We all dream of the supportive, got-your-back back girlfriends who text and email you constant encouragement and positive vibes. They are the ones who show unwavering interest and curiosity regarding your Lover. What is He like? Is He romantic? They are dying to know it all. If your new conquest doesn't work out, these YaYa Sisters will be the ones to conduct a séance, mortally wounding him and propelling you into Cupid's arms for your next tryst. Woman Power has you firmly in its bosom.
Wrong! Wake up, sister.
You can bet most women worth their salt who are not already pushing the sheets with another hunk would trade places with you and provide the silk pillowcase to boot. The competitive factor between women, especially single women, rivals any blood sport. With Samurai Swords drawn, they stand ready to take you out at a moment's notice. If you really do have a soul sister who can sing "We Are Family," count yourself extremely lucky.
Your guy friends, however, are impressed. Wow, she must really be a good lay! they think to themselves. I wonder how old she really is? Who cares? She looks pretty good for her age, whatever it is! Yes, Madame Cougar, men are so dense!
On the other hand, if the nightclub bouncer stops you Lovebirds at the door and insists on proving you are legal and your handsome escort pulls out his senior discount card, you could be labeled the kitten with the alley cat! Although true love has no boundaries, and we've all heard, "age doesn't matter," expect some raised eyebrows! Hold tightly to his flaccid mid-section — you are in for some rough remarks.
Can you believe how young she is?
We all know what she's after ...
and it's not his body!
We all know what He's after ... her body!
How disgusting, trying to relive his youth.
She must be desperate to be with him!
I bet He pops Viagra!
Your aging Lord of the Manor thinks nothing of introducing the family to his trophy. After all, they will surely see immediately how much the two of you are in love. He can hear the accolades now for having picked a delectable queen for his castle. No unsightly bulges under the caftan for this frisky, young feline.
Your family is not so sure. They assume He's gonna die a long time before you're ready for the plowed field. You'll have to raise the kids by yourself. "Will you get his social security?" they want to know. "If so, how much is it?"
Face it, Barbie, your Ken is graying and fraying. He's into Sinatra and you want Justin Timberlake. You order a dirty martini and He orders a shot of Mylanta. You are having a mid-afternoon snack while He is downing his last soft diet before early-to-bed. Close your eyes at bedtime as He crawls between the sheets and asks for another blanket. You still have a ways to go before your hot flashes.
Excerpted from Cinderella Has Cellulite by Donna Arp Weitzman. Copyright © 2014 Howard Bond Media, LLC. Excerpted by permission of Greenleaf Book Group 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.
Table of Contents
Ode to a Last Wife x
Blinded by Love 5
If He's Rich, You're a Witch 11
Ties That Bind 17
Rings and Bling 23
Cougars and Kittens 29
It's Raining Soirees 39
A Civil Union 43
The Nest: Yours, Mine or Hers? 53
The Evil Empire (Or The Women Who Didn't Get Him Club) 61
Whose Kids Are These, Anyway? 67
The Perfect Progeny 75
The Long Arm of the Sisters-in-Law 81
"Trust" Funds 87
Knives and Needles 95
Friends Never End! 101
A Bad Day for Cinderella 109
The Other Man 113
Dear Mama Bear 119
Dear Goldilocks 125
She or Me-Who's in This Tree? 129
Cinderella Has Cellulite 137
Epilogue: Silver Linings 143
About the Author 145