Cinderella Has Cellulite (8 page)

Watch for the telltale signs of commitment during the coupling stage. When you suggest you should leave some things at his house, and He temporarily stops breathing, you can bet there is another Chickadee sleeping in the nest or circling the tree above. If He’s going to see “old friends” in Palm Springs, or heading to another Big Twelve weekend, keep your roving eyes roving. You have competition! This sucker is not bagged yet. In fact, you must be aware that you might be the next Last Girlfriend.

Just when you think your relationship is getting hotter and He pours you another glass of wine, He may slyly add, “I think we both need some space.” This means your Wily Coyote is searching for new prey, or worse yet, He already has another female deer in his sights. If you are smart and not too blind to his insidious plan, you will agree that He
does
need his space. And, Honey, you will need yours, too. Make room in your nest for the next one. You can bet the sky is full of them—you just need to grab your binoculars and get in the path of the next Eagle’s eye!

Whatever you decide to do, please don’t change the name on the gas bill. It could get mighty cold in your domicile, and I predict the current Cad won’t be there long!

I
n
Star Wars
, Princess Leah, dressed in flowing white caftans, won the heart of Luke Skywalker. Her journey to love wasn’t easy, laden with battles and narrow escapes on many occasions. Somehow, the Princess kept her air of grace and strength (and cinnamon bun curls) intact, knowing Darth Vader and the Evil Empire lurked just beyond her Kingdom.

But that was the movies. When it comes to modern romance, the Evil Empire is formed by a crafty potpourri of characters—members of The Women That Didn’t Get Him Club! This seething coterie began to gel as each one turned to her favorite casserole recipe in her loose-leaf binder. Each one dreamed of walking in your ruby red slippers one day. As they boldly asked their friends to set them up, they felt certain they could take it from there.

Waiting patiently as He finalized his last divorce, each one pondered the exact best timing to pounce like a frenzied tigress. They fret that He may soon be out there frolicking with some nameless harlot while they are home stoking the fire just to keep their flame from extinction. Day after day, they pull off another calendar page . . . has it been long enough?

Soon, they sense a shadowy figure is swirling around their intended kill. It’s you, the soon-to-be Last Wife! “Darn! She’s already got a lock on him,” they hiss. “Foiled again!”

Although their unseemly intentions are hidden from the rest of the world, they form a devious union, The Women Who Didn’t Get Him Club. The members endure their disappointment in silence until one utterance spews forth at your wedding reception, “She sure moved in fast!” They all nod in agreement and ceremoniously rip a cuticle hoping to extract a small drop of blood and seal the deal as blood sisters. Their one goal? To uncover and flaunt the weaknesses of the One Who Got Him to the world. The cause is bigger than just your circle of influence; the entire universe must know.

At their informal encounters during various social gatherings, they circle like vultures looking for weakened prey. They smile as they wish you well. “How’s it going?” they ask. All the while, they are wishing for a tsunami to swallow you up. If by chance you are taken out, they may yet have another turn at the trough.

“Can it really be so? I lost out again?” they cry, trying not to think about how they missed another one. The furrows in their foreheads deepen as they spend their nights worrying over their fate.

“Let me be next!” they pray. “I must not, I
will not
let another get away.”

W
hose kids are these, anyway? Your steps, his steps, adopted steps? Doesn’t matter. Just beware: repeated stomping on your toes produces giant blisters. Whoever coined the term, “stepchildren” must have been bleeding profusely from the wounds inflicted by the little Darlings. The first thing to determine as you are eye-balling your Prince, dreaming of the Princess crown, is what strategy his kids are scheming in regards to you. Detour? Delay? Denial? Or the most noble game of all . . . Derail?

Now, if you have been warned about their bloodline, don’t be a blind fool. Is there a plan to knock you off because you’re bold enough to risk getting near the golden cushion? Are they the nieces and nephews of Godzilla, or are they truly the cherubs of a goddess? You need to be careful, even if they sing your praises to the heavens and fly on gilded wings. Jeweled scabbards can hold switchblades, and diamond-crusted bullets still sting.

No Last Wife, regardless of her celebrated attributes, can come close to their Sainted Mother. Don’t even try. Think of yourself as the Mother of the Groom at every family event. Regardless of the nature of the feast, you are expected to sit a lot, smile a lot, and shake your head up and down a lot.