Cinderella Has Cellulite (9 page)

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Authors: Donna Arp Weitzman

BOOK: Cinderella Has Cellulite
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Remember, beige
is
the color wheel as far as your wardrobe is concerned. If you have any Victoria’s Secret stash left over from the romantic phase between you and their father, better that it stays in a locked closet with the lavender-scented shelf liner. Wear armor around the house. I suggest baggy clothes, showing no hint of cleavage unless yours happen to flop. Shaking and flopping are both good and desirable stepmother assets. Above all, never let a clever or engaging moment surface. Those slips can be mighty damaging. And brains? No brains. Brains are not a good thing.

Ah
, you think,
but ours could be a later-in-life fairy tale
. “There will be no problems,” you’ve already assured each other. “Our children are grown.” However, grown children (though possessing scattered gray hairs and facial wrinkles) do not ensure familial bliss. In fact, the mind games played at this level can be more honed and devious.

Above all, never let a clever or engaging moment surface.

Your own children may worry their mom is making a big mistake, but they think, “We can’t tell her a single thing.” Recalling your past losers, they want to know what
this
joker’s like. Your Angel daughter may roll her eyes as she tells her friends, “I have to meet Mom’s new boyfriend on Sunday.” She still doesn’t understand “why Mom had to leave Dad” and she feels sorry for him. “Well, I will be nice,” she vows, “but nobody is as good as Daddy. Sometimes I hate my mother!”

If your sons are meeting their PNF (Potential New Father), they are more likely to be a little easier on him. Can He shoot a few baskets, and does He watch football? That’s all they need to know. It’s a real plus if He has a great media room where they can crash and watch ESPN. Besides, if their dad is the kind that is always out chasing women their age, having a father around the house (doesn’t matter whose house) might not be so bad.

The ultimate insult cuts deep: “And never will she get one of the family recipes!”

Prepare to be inspected like a mixed breed at the Westminster Dog Show by all of his kids. They may opine something like, “I don’t see what He sees in Her. Mom is so much classier.” Or it may come straight out as, “She just wants his money” (understand this is the case even if He is a flat broke womanizer with a bad toupee).

It’s a real plus if He has a great media room where they can crash and watch ESPN.

“I will have to say hello when she’s around,” one may confess. “But never, ever am I going to go out of my way to talk to her.” “I will just stay in another room at family gatherings,” vows another. The ultimate insult cuts deep: “And never will she get one of the family recipes!”

His grown sons may whistle something to the tune of, “Hey, did you see Dad’s new girlfriend? Scary!” Or if you’re reasonably pretty, “Hey, did you see Dad’s new girlfriend? Wow, what does she
see
in
him?”

Welcome to the family!

W
hile ascending to the position of the Last Wife, you just know there are sooooo many happy times ahead! One of the pleasantries you most look forward to is introducing your own genetic perfection into the mix.

“My
children
. . . ” Doesn’t the sound of saying it bring warm thoughts to mind?
My little ones. The girls. My boys. The family
. You know you’ve already produced the perfect family. (Their father, your ex-husband, that’s a different story . . . but, like Scarlett, you will think about that another day.)

There is no doubt in your mind that everyone on his side (don’t be fooled, this is a wrestling match with everyone jockeying for the best position) will instantly adore your little Shirley Temple. When they welcome your fair-haired Opie into their arms, you will feel as if you are finally in Mayberry. Aunt Bea will come through the door any minute with a fresh-baked cobbler and ask, “Who’s hungry?” Or was that a scream from your Betrothed’s mother, “She has
kids
?”

On the appointed day, you attempt to introduce his family (which you affectionately know as the Little Hellions) to your Angels. His brood looks treacherous. How dare they stare at your Goldilocks as if she is Honey Boo Boo? And your Little Prince is treated like Edward Scissorhands! Deep down in your gut, you feel a twinge that is not due to acid reflux. You suspect a battle is brewing. Still, you think that if you masquerade your voice into a Mary Poppins singsong, surely everyone will eventually be genuinely delighted with the new set-up.

Meanwhile, you are wondering exactly where your Pillar went.

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