A Tale of Two Women and their Push Up Bras
In a country not that far away, at a time not very long ago, a nerd with time on her hands hacked into the email accounts of two well-known women. She passed the shocking results on to a friend..who passed them on to a friend…who published them on this blog. Can you guess who these women are?
Olivia Harris-Finke, with her adoring billionaire hubby and jetset lifestyle, is the envy of lonely recently divorced Rose. But Olivia’s casual bragging hides a major crack in her oh-so-happy marriage. Rose, as usual, puts both feet right into it.
BEWARE THE PODIATRIST..
Oh baby I’m sorry, I never should have said that! Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to be such a fucking cow. You’re my bestie, you should be crying on my shoulder only you’re so damn far away I can’t hug you but honey I’d really like to.
I didn’t mean to go on all the time about you being happy. It’s just that I thought you were happy. You never said you weren’t. Every time I wrote you about how much John was getting up my nose you used to write back and say marriage is something you have to work at, and we just need to communicate about our feelings more and shit like that. I thought you were a real guru! Or at least, I thought you probably read some guru’s book or other and you were like passing it on? Work at it, you said. But like, fuck – you go to work to do work, then you come home, you don’t want to do more work.
So what’s the problem? Is it Steve? Tell mama Rose!
Yes of course it’s Steve. Who else! Oh, there’s Victoria, of course, things are not too good in that department either, I might as well NOT have been a stay-at-home mother for all the difference it’s made! In any case, that doesn’t make it any better. Sometimes it seems like my whole life is coming apart at the seams. Does life have seams? Anyway.
So what’s up with Steve? He’s not looking around is he? I always thought he was pretty hot for you. I remember the way he always used to be hanging around with his hand up your skirt or down your front. Guess that wears off after a bit, did with us.
Go on then, spit it out. Can’t he get it up any more?
Oh no! There’s nothing wrong with Steve’s sex drive, nothing at all!
In fact last year he had an affair. With his Chinese podiatrist, which I only happened to discover because she told an acquaintance of mine that she kept his toenail clippings in a jar so she could make him fall desperately in love with her. I hope she had to put them in a drink and swallow them, it would serve her right.
How anyone can fall in lust with a woman who earns her living by snipping corns and putting fungal powder on athletes’ feet is beyond me. I was tempted to stand outside her office with a placard reading ‘Home Breaker Within’ – or run her over in the Mercedes – but in the end I thought that would be in bad taste.
Fuck the bitch! Want me to come over there and glass her for you?
You must be frigging furious! What a little shit!
Apart from like, being really ratty, sounds like he had totally bad taste anyway. Do you reckon there’s such a thing as sexually transmitted verucas? A podiatrist! WTF!
You know it’s probably just male menopause. Guys get to their forties and start going bald at the back, they think if they go stick their dicks in as many random chicks as possible, the rest of their hair won’t fall out? It’s just a phase, it’ll pass. Come to think of it isn’t that what they say about teenagers? God I’m really sorry if I said the wrong thing though. The bastard. If I was there I’d sock him for you.
Thanks Rosey. That’s so sweet of you to offer.
I really don’t know if it’s a phase. He was certainly very sorry when I found out – particularly after I threatened to report HER to the Australasian Society of Podiatrists for having a relationship with a patient, and I said I’d tell Victoria her father is an ADULTERER. You should have seen the look on his face, I almost laughed, if I hadn’t wanted to defenestrate him.
I don’t think he’s done anything like that since – but then once they do it, you never really know do you? It’s like living with someone who’s on the bottle but says they’ve quit – all you really know is that you haven’t CAUGHT them doing it or at least found the paper bag in the underwear drawer yet. I feel – unrugged! As in, when the rug is pulled out from under you. He made a promise, I made a promise – turned out HE had his fingers crossed! Men!
How can I trust him anymore?
Well yeah I totally know how you feel. Actually I don’t know why I said that, I don’t though. John never cheated..the bastard.
Blokes though, they’re not the same as us. Some random chick says how about it, they’re in there, it doesn’t mean anything. Anyway you know he’s not gonna leave you. My mum used to say men are like hermit crabs, they don’t leave one shell until they can see another empty one nearby. I bet you that podiatrist wasn’t empty – probably had kids or a boyfriend or something. Or a spell circle.
Bet you felt like tearing her limb from limb though. Wouldn’t it be great if she got scabies or mad cow disease or syphilis or something like that? Do people still get those? You know I wouldn’t have given a rat’s arse if John cheated on me, but I’d be ropeable if it was someone I fancied. Like, that guy I went out with in the last year of school, the one with the Labrador eyes that used to go to St Stephen’s up the road? When he went off with Wendy Whatmore I could have fucking eaten her alive!
Oh yes. I cried for days, and then I put all his white business shirts in the wash with a new pair of flannelette red pyjamas I just bought for Victoria and they came out pink tie dye – and then I made him tell me all the details – what kind of underwear she likes, whether she likes to get on top, if she’s had a Brazilian or a landing strip. It was a Brazilian. I don’t know why, I didn’t want to know any of it but I just HAD to ask.
And then I cried some more and wouldn’t let him touch me. And then we had angry sex! I thought about going over to HER office and shouting at her but then what are expensive private schools for if not for preventing one from just that kind of excess?
Oh yeah angry sex. That’s the good bit about fights isn’t it! Like, when you say, I wouldn’t fucking nail you if you were the last man on the earth, and he grabs you and pushes you over on the bed and says if I were the last man on earth I’d bloody well make you nail me, you bitch! And then he’s got a stiffie like you’ve never seen before and he’s kissing you like he wants to dive down your throat and grabbing your hair and you’re scratching his back and – oh yeah baby!
Me and John had that once, hard to believe, it was after he thought I flirted with the plumber. If he’d been able to do that regularly I might not have left after all.
Oh yes and I drew up a list of rules for the future, a sort of contract if you know what I mean, and I made him sign his name at the bottom – it went more or less like this –
- No female medical specialists under 50 (you know he’s obsessed with self-diagnosing rare conditions and then having hundreds of tests run to see if he has them)
- To remain in mobile contact at all times except when in meetings (verified by personal assistant).
- To be home for dinner unless furnished with a cast iron excuse, again verified by personal assistant.
- Text messages and receipts to be available for my scrutiny at any time (not necessarily pre-arranged).
- If caught cheating, Steve agrees to hand over at least 80% of our joint assets.
But if you felt like that about it, why didn’t you just fuck off and leave the creep?
I could have left of course, but what would I do? Where would I go? Back to Mother? I really couldn’t stand her for more than an hour or two, besides, she’s permanently gin-soaked, these days.
Besides –I really don’t want to be back on the market at my age, it’s so dispiriting, as I’m sure you’ll find yourself soon enough. And, I still love Steve – I think – and I suppose he still loves me. Otherwise that Chinese woman wouldn’t have needed to bother with the toenail clippings. I am not sure I believe in the male menopause. I suspect that men just want to have one as an excuse to get away with things like women do.
But, you know, sometimes I feel so dreadfully down about the whole thing. I mean, everybody thinks I’m so privileged, to have a rich husband like Steve and a lovely house and a beautiful daughter but it isn’t always quite what it looks! I’m getting older, Rose! And Steve, well he just isn’t. I mean, he is, but not in the same way! Women still look at him! And if we did get divorced, what would I do? It’s not like I really have any skills any more. Victoria is almost grown up. She’ll have eloped to Paris by the time she’s eighteen.
I’ll be all alone!
Cheer up. So will I. You could come and paint the town red with me Liv! Plus you’d probably get most of his stash.
Trust you to look on the bright side.
Oh well, I’m sure I’m over-reacting. It’s just hormones, isn’t it. We all get them, at our age. I’m post-menopausal, by the way. I had the Change the year before last. Hot flushes, mood swings – horrible!
Tell me about it. Getting older I mean. I’m no spring chicken either, mate. But at least you’re still married. Trying to find a man when you’re in your forties is no joke, I can’t pick up like I used to. Not even guys in singlets whistle at me any more, it’s a real bummer!
No, I mean, I’m sure it’s gonna be alright, Liv. It was just a mid-life crisis, all guys get them when they’re that age, they get over it and then they see how stupid they were. Anyway you look pretty damn good to me on facebook. All those expensive creams must be doing you good hey. Hang on in there, it’ll be alright, trust me. Steve’s not the leaving kind.
How would YOU know. You haven’t seen what he’s like now! He’s taken to wearing a pony tail, for Heaven’s sake. And ripped jeans!
You’re right, what would I know. Tell you what, Liv, what you should do is go into politics, like you said. I always thought you were fucking made to be a pollie! Go round giving speeches to people, shaking hands and kissing babies, that sort of crap? You could do that, I know you could, and it’d take your mind off Steve and his shit. What do you reckon?
Oh and about Steve’s idea about meeting men by walking the dog, tell him to try it himself! I went to the park with Pooch and he zeroed in on some lawyer on his evening jog and went for his ankles. The guy went completely mental and chased him round and round yelling “I’ll kill the ffing mongrel” and Pooch thought it was a game and kept dodging and nipping and I couldn’t catch him for ages. And he did ask for my phone number but somehow I don’t think it was for a date and anyway I said my name was Smith and I gave that bogan’s number with the tattoos.
Go get em!