Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Dear Me

Dear Mayrav,

My husband dresses like a schlub and won't listen
to any of my brilliant sartorial advice. How best can I convey that a
stained shirt and ripped jeans is not "an outfit?" – Mayrav, Orange
County, Calif.

Dear Mayrav,

I'm glad you asked. If you're
like me – and I get the distinct feeling you are – you've already tried
buying Hubby some super-hip/ridiculously-great-looking clothing to
supplement that collection of Chewbacca T-shirts he calls his wardrobe.

You've no doubt tried leering at other men when you're out
together in public, saying things like, "Now that guy knows how to

You may have even "donated" some of his more offensive
garments to Goodwill – not that you felt much good will toward them,
even before the ketchup stains.

Supposing all of these efforts
have failed, there is only one thing left you can do: Give birth.
Preferably to a son. Preferably to one that looks like a shrunken-down
version of your husband.

In a few years time, your "little man"
will be able to walk around on his own, smile, talk – and completely
rock a sweater vest with Kenneth Cole dress shoes. Send your boys out
into the world together; next to your spiffy spawn, Hubby will look
like an underpaid "manny."

Fashion Island security guards will
follow slowly behind the pair for several minutes, trying to assess
whether to report a kidnapping. Other dads (at least those wearing Marc
Jacobs) will shrug their shoulders at your spouse, as if to say, "Dude,
didn't you get the memo?" Trust me, dress your child smartly enough and
your man will suit up in no time.

Sure, it's manipulative, but
so is playing "Blister in the Sun" in a room full of Gen Xers just to
watch everyone compulsively clap four times after the intro. And who
hasn't done that?

Having a child might sound like an enormous
length to go just to get your husband to sport a sports jacket. All
those sanctimommies out there will tell you that motherhood completely
changes your life/priorities/sleep patterns/libido/metabolism/financial
security/memory – and a host of other things that I can't remember
right now. They'll tell you that having a child just to pressure your
husband into dressing better is at best "irresponsible," and at worst

But whom are you going to listen to, women who
have given every aspect of child rearing careful, considered thought,
or the woman who gets your man into Kitson?

Still reading? That's what I thought.

Dear Mayrav,

Should I get a second dog? – Mayrav, Orange County, Calif.

Dear Mayrav,

One small dog greeting your guests with violent yapping is annoying.
Two is off-putting. Three is reason enough never to visit.

Dear Mayrav,

But I really want one. – Mayrav, Orange County, Calif.

Dear Mayrav,

Seriously. No.

Dear Mayrav,

am trying to be more eco-friendly and have cut back my consumption of
bottled water. Trouble is, I can't seem to find a reusable water bottle
that is both slender enough to fit my cup holder and large enough not
to require multiple refillings throughout the day. What would you
suggest? – Mayrav, Orange County, Calif.

Dear Mayrav,

you should ask – I've been having a similar problem. You could try
leaving the house with two reusable bottles and keep one in the car.
The trick will be to remember to bring them both back inside at the end
of the day, lest they should get all funky and moldy by the next

If that doesn't work, go back to plastic bottles and
buy yourself some carbon credits. Or a Prius. Better yet, post your
question to readers of a large daily newspaper and see if they offer
any viable options – or a free Prius.

Dear Mayrav,

I'm a
stay-at-home mom who put her career temporarily on hold. How can I tell
if now is the right time to go back to work? – Mayrav, Orange County,

Dear Mayrav,

This is a difficult and extremely
personal decision. One best made by you and your family. But if you
find yourself lonely during the work day – perhaps writing yourself
little letters – now may be the time.

1 comment:

  1. Dear Mayrav,
    Please write more entertaining blogs for your devoted readers. It's been three weeks and I'm beginning to think you don't love us anymore. Thanks.
    Some reader you've never met.