Utterly True Tale From My Life. Completely.
I am having an affair!
Just the other day I looked at my watch and saw (what’s this!) I have become a 32 year-old problemchildbride and what’s more a California housewife too. Time to get your skates on, Sam, I sighed to myself. Time to have the affair.
Most of the other housewives in the local League of Housewives have had 3 or 4 affairs by now and are starting to think me either gay or odd. Gayness would be fine with them – and actually rather a feather in their collective this-season cap for being such very tolerant zeitygeistyish housewives – so it’s sort of unfortunate I’m not gay as Oddness is social death at the Annual Housewife Stain-Removal Championships (Ojai Chapter). No clearer example of that was needed after Jenny “Odd Duck” Capon took a turn, actually jumped into a large cake and declared her wish to be taken to Vegas to become a stripper. Her daughter’s reasoned pleading that she was 73 and arthritic could not change her mind and in the end the fire-brigade had to be called to get her out of the cake. She’s never been back to meetings despite her meat-loaf being legendary in the Tri-County region. It’s very sad.
Anyway, I got the message loud and clear. It was time to either have an affair or be forced to hand in my advanced-level protective rubber gloves (“Marigolds” of course – a peerless glove) and my hard-earned Golden Pinnie to the District League. I love my Golden Pinnie dearly and I was damned if I was going to let that besom Porphyria Smith waltz off with it unearned; I know for a fact her sparkling faucets have grimy bits behind them and she doesn’t clean out her toaster crumb-tray daily as a Golden Pinnie wearer oughter. Fur-coat and no knickers type, as my granny would say. We all know them.
The ProblemHusband and I have been happy together these last 11 years and so it was only with some weariness that I changed into my sauciest leopard-skin apron, absently opened the top two buttons on my fur-trimmed nylon housecoat and gloomily sashayed out of the door to embark on my affair. Truly the burdens on a So Cal housewife are many and complex, I reflected, as I made my way towards the pool.
How wrong was I to be downcast!
The affairee is the pool-boy and his name is Juan. And not the “Wan” kind of Juan either, but the hawking, throaty, “Ccchwan” kind of Juan which is much sexier, all the housewives agree.
It was simply meant to be with Juan and I, for he is all I look for in a man. He is somewhere between Alan Rickman, Al Pacino, Jon Stewart, Andre Sakharov and Leonard Cohen. Really! He is like the long-lost second cousin that links them all. And he is 49, which is quite unusual for a pool boy, but very lucky for me, as my tastes run more ripe than green in both my seasonal fruit dishes and my men. (I also like the time to be ripe. For laundry, love, origami, anything really, just as long as it’s good and ripe. I once tried the Chinese paper arts when the time wasn’t ripe but that’s another post).
Anyway Juan is the pool-boy of my dreams and we’ve been very happy together since Monday when the affair began. We talk of politics, art and wine late into the warm, starlit nights and laugh tinklingly, as lovers do.
But sometimes we grow serious. Juan has seen many troubles in his life. He has known the shadows. He has felt the ignominy of the cursed. He has been rejected for his beliefs (Methodist), time and time again but has had a lot of walk-on parts in ads. I try to soothe his cares. I stroke his brow and whisper softly to him that Method-acting worked wonders for Brando and De Niro and tell him that these producers are just fools; souless pen-pushers for whom a solid bottom line is more affecting than a quivering bottom lip, no matter how exquisitely acted that lip might be, and even if that particular shaving-foam advert required both stiff upper and lower lips. The poor lamb’s chin is still quite hacked up with nicks from that shoot.
The Problem Husband doesn’t mind my little fling in the least as he and Juan share a passion for avocado-farming and have similar views on Mrs. Thatcher and sauerkraut. Sometimes I feel a bit left out to be honest.
Tonight, as Juan left, we stared deep into each others’ eyes and swore that next week we would start holding hands.
July 21st, 2006 at 11:33 am
Goarshhh, he sounds divine and how sweet of the hubs not to mind a bit. UmmmmRickman. What a piece of totty he is. Truely madly deeply, and Robin Hood. Sigh.
July 21st, 2006 at 9:17 pm
Oddly I believe I know Juan. We lived in SoCal for a time and he sounds amazingly similar to the brother of man that tended our yard. We actually considered hiring Juan as well but having no pool couldn’t really justify the expense, although he seemed like a fine gentlemen, best we could tell, with him not really speaking english and all…my judgement based on my wife’s accounts as she speaks some Spanish. Uh oh…she did seem to spend a rather significant amount of time “interviewing” him and only later did I question the prospect of hiring a “pool boy” with no pool. Could it be that you are not his first forray into the world of the affair. Oh my…I believe I must retire to contemplate the ramifications therein.
July 21st, 2006 at 10:29 pm
Careful! These things have a habit of escalating and getting out of hand – so to speak -before you can say knife.
Look but don’t touch is a useful maxim and anyway never on home ground, so I believe.
July 22nd, 2006 at 6:11 am
fmc, if Alan Rickman had been looking for employment as a pool boy in the area, Juan wouldn’t have had a look in and, on the mean streets of Ojai, life can be tough for an unemployed 49-year old pool-boy lothario.
Joel, I care not for Juan’s past. Our future together is my only concern. Although he did call me Susan the other day, and then Caroline, just this morning…
Pat, don’t worry. So far there has only been a meeting of the minds of the pool-boy and the housewife. It’s all purely cerebral with an occasional chat about filters. For “cerebral” you might very well read “imaginary”. So you might but s’all true, honest, honest! As time goes by, Juan might end up looking a bit more like Captain Jack Sparrow as I’ve just seen Pirates of the Carribean 2 where, astonishingly, he managed to combine the words pirate, mincing and sexy and make the result the most memorable pirate ever..
July 22nd, 2006 at 6:48 am
If you let him massage your feet, you will have crossed an ominous threshold.
July 22nd, 2006 at 10:05 pm
Alan Rickman. That’s all I have to say. Sigh. Sami – did you know he was spotted in the Ceilidh Place recently!! If you find me loitering around there with a searching look on my face then you know why.
My dream pool boy (though we don’t have a pool) would be a cross between Alan Rickman, Johnny Depp and Stick from Doodledoo. Then I too would cross over without a thought to the Land of Infidelity.
July 23rd, 2006 at 1:06 am
Mr. Nanas, we made it clear to each other from the start that we would absolutely NOT do feet. Neither of us wants to cross that boundary.
Fluffag, I’m off to Google Stick from Doodledoo…
July 23rd, 2006 at 8:33 am
I hear Zinedine Zidane has just retired and might be looking for a part-time job to supplement his pension. I am digging the hole for the pool as I write.
July 23rd, 2006 at 11:38 am
er should you not be looking to the moomin postman then moomin mama?
Mrs Zixon has stated that moomin central transmissions have been a bit garbled (more than ususal) ever since you left the hallowed ground of uk for yankeeland. – is this related to your to your recent foray into the land of flirtation?
July 23rd, 2006 at 3:13 pm
Sam, methinks that the future of this fling is limited, if for no other reason, your husband and the flingee get along well.
Besides, pool boys are yesterday’s news. I say, go for the local highschool quarterback.
Cheers.
July 23rd, 2006 at 4:15 pm
Daph, I see Zidane in more of a household role. I think he’d be very good at being the fellow who wafts a gentle breeze across my fair skin with a large ostrich feather fan, pausing only to do keepie-ups for my amusement.
Your Royal Marsupialness, garbled? Why, I thought my recent potato poem captured each possible sentiment you could possibly have about a vegetable in stanzas as crisp as a Walker’s Salt’n'Vinegar. No? I am, as you know, the most incorrigible flirt. This is not new. Nobody is safe, man or woman as I don’t think flirting is necessarily sexual – more word-play. Some people you can flirt with, others you can’t, but if I meet a fellow flirtatious soul – game on! All good fun.
Randall, the whole idea of a quarterback has always made me think of a strung ham. Never been much of a one for the huge beefcakes. A nice lean chop is more my bag.
July 24th, 2006 at 11:57 am
Yes, but really, who doesn’t have a passion for avocado farming?
(You are spectacular by the way, and not just because you know one who has known the shadows–although that does help.)
July 24th, 2006 at 8:05 pm
Word-play is the best sort – the fun of window shopping without the stress of having to buy anything.
Your potato post struck a chord of nostalgia for my childhood, so I posted a contribution to the theme on my blog today – not in the least hilarious like yours, but I’m out there in support of our humble spud.
July 25th, 2006 at 2:47 am
Must I ask?? How is the affair going with Juan? Since you’ve raised the issue and peaked curiousity…please…don’t make us wait.
July 25th, 2006 at 10:06 am
How racy your life seems. I don’t know anyone who has had an affair! That is how square and traditional Baltimore is. If I were to have an affair I would be ostracized, not feted. Do tell us more about Juan.
July 25th, 2006 at 11:19 am
Having stumbled upon these pages whilst perusing the world wide webworld for an entirely different kind of bride, I found myself captivated by your whimsy filled tales of potatoes, llamas and jolly dilly-dalliances with ageing pool boys. That said, this latest tale has left me floundering betwixt two monoliths of televisual popular culture; Desperate Housewives and Dallas. Not that I’d dare suggest you are in anyway desperate, and I sincerely hope you don’t dress like those God awful 80s women, but I do feel your story can end in one of only two ways.
Happy Ending 1: You’ll discover the pool boy’s name isn’t Juan, but Ivan, and that he’s be sent by some murky figure from your past to right some wrongs and wrong some rights. Meanwhile, your husband will turn out to have a hidden secret locked away in the basement, and your children will discover, with the aid of lashings and lashings of ginger beer and a small dog, that the disappearance of the family cat had more to do with last week’s Sunday dinner than you had previously let on.
Happy Ending 2: You’ll awaken in the shower to find it was all just a dream.
It is of course entirely within the realms of possiblity that I may be wrong, but having never been incorrect about anything in my life I would wager of heafy sum on my correctness in this matter.
I await the outcome with eager anticipation.
Sincerely yours,
Olaf
July 25th, 2006 at 6:43 pm
more like the PCB will turn into a moomin and live on planet er moomin..
July 25th, 2006 at 7:08 pm
Maybe I should have mentioned that Stick is actually a hand puppet from a children’s tv programme (where o where would I be without Cbeebies). But if you saw/heard Stick you would understand. His deadpan humour and quirky logic would have you entertained/besotted for years. Plus, he has five furry limbs so would probably give a pretty good back rub, etc….
July 25th, 2006 at 8:00 pm
Latigo, avocado husbandry is an art and a science. They’re a bugger to herd, mind. And with the right music and laser show I am a spectacular. Or a spectacle. Or maybe I’m just a monocle. People don’t pay to see me, you see.
Kit, by the magic of the internet I’ve been over to S. Africa to visit you. Your lavendar cookies look scrumptious.
Joel, Juan is a man amongst men. We have held hands already and I’m helping him with his audition piece for Mad Cheerer #38 on The Price Is Right.
Emma, my life has indeed taken a racy turn. I barely have any time these days to put a sparkle on my faucets. More will be revealed about Juan soon. He is a wanderer who has known some sorry sorry sorrow which should please Latigo.
Olaf, I like the part about Ivan wronging some rights. As a matter of fact I have an Ivan (www.diesirae.blogspot.com) in my aquaintance. I wonder… I dress as all housewives ought to – 2 inch pumps, pearls, crinolene waspy-waisted dresses, spotless pinny with the appropriate day of the week on, and of course a dazzling smile at all times. I still have a twinkle in my eye but I’m working towards deadening that by Christmas time.
Mr. Furry. Blip bip bip beep moomymoomymoomy MOOM. Pardon my Moominese.
Fluffag, five furry limbs you say? How might one go about meeting this … “Stick”?
July 25th, 2006 at 9:42 pm
I’m calling your bluff. Show us some evidence. Bring on the Juan!
July 26th, 2006 at 3:39 am
PCB…I vaguely recall our SoCal gardner’s brother, who I believe was in fact your Juan, constantly mumbling the words “Bob Barker,” further proof I believe that these men are one in the same. Turns out, “Bob Barker” were the only two words of english Juan could speak, which as you might imagine, kept most conversations relatively short. Hmm…I remember once spotting a sign in the back of his brother’s truck that read something to the effect…”Bid on Showcase #1.” I didn’t make the connection at the time but now it is becoming ever so clear.
July 26th, 2006 at 5:23 am
That tears it. I’m becoming a pool boy.
July 26th, 2006 at 6:07 pm
Oh my gosh. I just pee-my-pants-laugh when I read your blog. You are such an awesome writer! Where do you come up with this stuff? =)
July 26th, 2006 at 10:11 pm
Like you, Sam, I dress in two-inch pumps, pearls and crinolene waspy-waisted dresses, and stride out to the pool to the Dallas theme. I wonder why the pool guy doesn’t take me in his arms and make pleasingly savage love to me. Then I realise it isn’t 1981, I’m not beautiful, I’m not a woman and I’m not gay. With a wry grin, I reflect on the dice life casts; and I go to bed, to be woken shockingly by my fiancee returning home violently at 3.30 AM from her hen night.
All this I expect to experience in the next five hours.
July 27th, 2006 at 4:27 pm
Ojai! I am just down the road in Vta, on the Avenue. Howdy, neighbor. I feel like I should bake a pie for you.
July 29th, 2006 at 1:41 pm
Emma: the trick – if you are having an affair -is not to let anyone know about it. Maybe that’s why you have never met anyone who has had one. But I could be wrong.
July 29th, 2006 at 11:59 pm
hail the hoff..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0y6fyqnncBc
July 30th, 2006 at 3:20 am
*sigh* Oh, Juan….
August 9th, 2006 at 2:01 am
Seriously. We all need a Juan ( just JUAN heh) every now or then.