Men, p.10
Men, page 10
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If your ex-husband tells you he’s not able to make his child maintenance payments, while lavishly supporting his new girlfriend, point out that the only job she’s ever had was on her nose.
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When you hear his first divorce settlement offer, reply, ‘So that’s what an oily rag smells like.’ Don’t sign anything until you get a lawyer to read it from covert to covert.
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Don’t phone your ex. What on earth could you say to the bastard that can’t be said by a divorce lawyer? Besides ‘Oh, honey, the proctologist called. They found your head.’
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When you see a solicitor about child maintenance, he’ll ask you in a routine way whether or not you have any convictions. Tell him, ‘Yes. That all men are bastards.’
When the pinstriped solicitor reiterates, ‘No, I mean prior convictions,’ reply, ‘Yes, that all the men I met prior to my husband were bastards too, I just didn’t bloody well know it!’
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You don’t want to be one of those women who get nothing in the divorce. Except syphilis. You’re like – ‘Thanks for sharing.’
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There is no such thing as a good divorce. Get your lawyer to follow the paper trail, as the man you once trusted with your life has probably hidden all your joint savings. He will have arranged things with more care than a balding newscaster takes with his hair strands. The Ex-husband. Comes in Regular, Lethal and now More Advanced Lethal!
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Wife to husband who is being mean with the divorce settlement: ‘If you really want to torture me, ask me to renew our wedding vows.’
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‘Divorce’ is an old Latin term for ‘send your lawyer to a luxury resort in Bali’.
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Everything gets shared equally . . . usually between your lawyers. Lawyers just charge a humungous amount to tell you what you already know, except they tell it to you in Latin. Divorcicularus You-Are-Screwed-Maximus or Palimony Maximum. But take heart. It probably won’t come to that. Mainly because there’ll be nothing to share . . . You will have thrown it all at each other weeks ago.
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He had always been the first to put his hand in his pocket. Post-divorce he just forgets to take it out again.
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He’ll get the Wedgwood and the Royal Doulton. And you? The paper plates. He’s being very fair about the separation. He’s letting you keep your own toenails and internal organs.
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When a hubby runs out on his wife, he never forgets his manners; when it comes to destitution, it’s still mothers and children first.
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What will you say to the kids? ‘Sorry, but due to a downturn in our economic situation, I’m going to have to let one of you go’?
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Your daughter will have to start wearing your hand-me-downs – while you’re still wearing them. You’ll be eating cereal with a fork to save on milk. You won’t eat dinner any more. You’ll just meet at the dining table while you read out the recipes.
The bastard will re-marry with unseemly haste
Newly divorced men attract bimbos like flies to a dropped chop.
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Even though he was conceived during the Aztec Empire he’ll soon have a girlfriend so young that if she were a wine, you wouldn’t drink her. Even Berlusconi wouldn’t drink her.
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If he leaves you for a younger woman with a pierced tongue, remind him that a tongue stud weeping pus does not enhance fellatio. If she wanted to make a hole in her head, wouldn’t it have been easier for all concerned if she’d used an AK47?
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A good indication that your marriage really is over is when your husband proposes to someone else. You’ll feel like the food on the supermarket shelf, with your obsolescence date-stamped on your forehead. You’re little more than a brood mare put out to pasture.
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You’ve only been divorced six weeks. Where did he get her? A fiancée-vending machine?
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When your husband announces his engagement, you’ll have to think of a congratulatory present. But what do you give the woman who’s had everyone? Perhaps some genital lice to go with that syphilitic ulcer?
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There’s every chance that this time he’ll pick a woman who introduces herself as an actress. Tell all your mutual friends that judging by the combination of cleavage and IQ, it’s pretty clear she got her start in films entitled Moist Choir Girl and Make Your Own Ben Wa Balls. Her only ambition is to be a contestant on Big Brother – only she doesn’t have the brains.
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When your ex-husband actually sets a marriage date you will eventually wish him well . . . straight after you put his nuts through a garlic press. Meanwhile there are many things you can say to him to make yourself feel better. Tell him any of the following:
1) He’d be better off marrying a shopping trolley. At least it has a mind of its own.
2) ‘So, when your new wife was filling in the consent form, where it said “sign” did she write Pisces or Aquarius?’
3) ‘Why bother having a wedding lunch? She’ll only throw it up again five minutes later.’
4) ‘How could anyone get into such a tight pair of pants? I guess a glass of champagne usually does the trick.’
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If you ever meet her, airheads will roll. But actually it’s a mistake to think she’s a bimbo. The woman’s a praying mantis in Prada. Let’s face it, it takes a lot of intelligence to look that stupid.
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The only difference between a bimbo and a piranha is the silicone implant.
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Yes, it’s normal to feel a visceral revulsion to the idea of the man you once loved naked and ecstatic in the arms of a lower life form. But for the sake of your children, keep smiling. Smile until your gums dry out.
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There’s nothing worse than being left for a younger woman after you’ve ruined your body having his babies. But remind yourself that the man is evil. It’s a wonder he’s not off somewhere tossing virgins into volcanoes.
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Pretend to wish them the best for their honeymoon, while all the time wishing that their plane makes unexpected contact with the Andes.
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Take heart though. His new bride’s so thin, if their plane does crash in the Andes there’ll be nothing for him to eat.
Recovery from the husbandectomy
Don’t dwell on the negative. You’ll be thinking, I’m a divorcee with two children and no job. Who’ll want me? I’ll end up choking to death on people’s leftovers in some tacky little eatery in King’s Cross where nobody knows the Heimlich manoeuvre. But think of the positive things – no more snoring or boring. No more pretending to laugh at his inane anecdotes. You can now get an exotic pet, dye your hair fire-engine red and wear nothing but leopardskin. You’ll soon feel more alive than cystitis-curing Greek yoghurt.
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Your new motto: I think, therefore I’m divorced.
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If you’re honest, even if you did get a chance to reminisce with your hubby about all the fun times you shared, you’d be chatting for . . . oh, about 3.6 seconds.
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In truth, that ex-husband of yours never exactly knocked himself out for you. Although it’s tempting to bloody well do it for him.
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Do you know why divorces are so expensive? Because they’re worth it.
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You will get over him. Soon you’ll be about as nostalgic for your hubby as you are about those stitches in your perineum.
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A divorced woman’s motto? When it’s raining shit, get a brolly.
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Alternatively, you could just kill him . . .
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Admirable restraint is what we dumped wives exercise right up to the moment when we shoot our marauding husbands.
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Marriage is a fun-packed, frivolous hobby, only occasionally resulting in death.
CHAPTER 10
Murder —
Till Homicide
Do Us Part
People often ask, how can you tell if your marriage is truly dead? Well, I think a pretty good indication is if you’re in a morgue identifying the body of your spouse.
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Where there’s a will, you should make sure you’re in it . . .
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Not all men are bastards – some of them are dead.
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I find that a husband’s opinion of his wife is greatly influenced by whether or not she is holding a gun to his head.
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Apparently there is an afterlife; after your husband dies.
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Is killing your husband an underhanded thing to do? Probably. But life teaches women a maths lesson not covered at school: when the odds are against you, get even.
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Tell your hubby what a big day he has ahead of him. ‘Tomorrow, I’m going to kill you, cut you into tiny pieces, then cash in your life insurance.’
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But how to kill him? Can’t live with him, can’t cut him up with a chainsaw and dispose of his body in black bin-liners ’cause the neighbours might notice.
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Sadly, the use of the hemlock-poisoned chalice seems to have died out in modern marriage.
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If you walk into a garage to buy a can of petrol and the attendant asks you which brand your husband wants you to get, reply that your husband doesn’t know yet that you are going to set fire to him. Run away while he’s dialling the police.
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The interesting thing about looking at a knife aimed at your ex-husband’s groin is how small the tip of the blade is, and yet what a huge hole it would make in his future reproductive plans.
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Now that you’re single you’re supposed to be mastering your own DIY, but your only pressing concern is which kitchen appliance can be used as a deadly weapon against your husband’s lover – and the scene be made to look like an accident. Does the local hardware store sell a shallow grave shovel?
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Every woman wants to be wanted – just not by the entire Metropolitan Police Force.
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If you don’t get a grip you’re going to end up as one of those women on a confessional daytime telly show called I Chopped Up My Husband’s Lover and Fed Her to Him in a Lovely Tasty Casserole.
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You plan to kill him in a drive-by shooting . . . except your husband took the car. So what are you gonna do? A drive-by shooting on a bus?
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The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – with an upwards thrust from a carving knife.
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These feelings are normal. After an acrimonious divorce, you’ll have an overpowering urge to murder every man you’ve ever met – and your period’s not due for ages.
PMS is justification for homicide. Just explain that you were going through your premenstrual-tension nervous breakdown Blue Period.
A wife’s motto: I’m having my period so can therefore legally kill you.
But you’ll have to prove you were premenstrual. I don’t think they’ll let you off for PPMS – Premature Premenstrual Syndrome. Or PMSHOFLM – Post-Menstrual Syndrome Hanging Over from Last Month.
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If you kill him when you’re postnatal, you can definitely get off. But don’t leave it till the kid is one or two or you’ll get a jail sentence. And you don’t want a little baby in prison: the tooth fairy will have to commit a crime to leave the twenty pence under his pillow. His knowledge of primary colours will stop at grey . . . He’ll be teething on steel bars. He won’t be learning to read from Spot Goes to the Circus but graffiti along the lines of ‘Die Police Scum’ . . . You want him to be able to count, sure, but not in lieu of knowing people’s names. ‘Will number 236 please pass me my bottle?’
Also, prison is such a grotty place. There’ll be so much hair clogging the shower drain that you’ll be tempted to get down and shampoo it. It’ll be the only plughole you’ve ever seen which needs a cut and blow-dry. But bending over in the near vicinity of a male prison warder is a major misdemeanour. ‘Bend Over; I’ll Drive’ is his motto. You’ll spend all your waking hours watching male warders with what can only be described as mounting apprehension.
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So on balance I think it best not to kill your hubby if you can possibly help it. Whatever you do to him might originally be reported as an accident, but not after those highly advanced forensic tests prove that his heart was gouged out of his body by his wife’s nail file. Forget red-blooded murder and opt for revenge instead . . .
Revenge
Post divorce, you won’t know whether to vent your spleen or rupture his.
You now have enough chips on his shoulder to open a casino.
You’re probably pondering the Uzi machine-gun, hostage-taking and gradual-posting-of-bits-of-his-body-for-ransom option. That option looks quite attractive at this point but . . .
Don’t get your tampon in a twist – just have revenge.
You could stalk him. The psychopath in the movie Fatal Attraction will have nothing on you . . . But that means you might be caught on closed-circuit security cameras while having a bad hair day. (Otherwise known as a ‘Lockerbie’ – a hair disaster.) It can be so traumatic finding a ladder in your stocking, once you’ve got one over your face.
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Try more subtle techniques. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Gazpacho is best served cold. Some tips for hot revenge:
1) Put Nair hair remover in his shampoo bottle.
2) Turn up his bathroom scales by half a stone – the best revenge on a weight-conscious egotist.
3) Drown him by putting a mirror on the bottom of his Jacuzzi.
4) Replace his KY Jelly with a tube of superglue – that will fix him. Literally.
5) The thought of a Rottweiler shag-o-gram should also cheer you up considerably.
6) Send him a gift voucher . . . for a castration.
7) Send an application to a computer dating agency in his name, citing his preference for geriatric, kinky amputees whose hobbies include penis-piercing.
8) Place a huge amplifier outside his bedroom window playing a Wings album at top volume. Or a Yoko Ono backup vocal on an isolated track.
9) Encourage your 10-year-old to leave her descant recorder at her father’s place, so that she has something to play when she is staying over. Oh, and her violin too. The bagpipes are also an excellent instrument to take up. And do give the kids a little lecture on helping Dad to set the table. Forks on the left and. . . knives in the bimbo’s back.
CHAPTER 11
Men
(some general tips)
The sex war
If only we didn’t have such good taste in enemies.
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But how can it be a battle of wits when he’s unarmed?
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Men are the reason God invented cake.
It’s a man’s world
Even God is a bloke. Why else do women suffer period cramps, pregnancy, childbirth, mastitis and the menopause? And then, just when everything goes quiet and you think it’s all over, do you know what happens? You grow a beard. Is that fair, I ask you?
Usefulness
Now that women are economically independent and we can impregnate ourselves, if our vibrators could kill spiders in the bathroom, light the barbie and tell us we don’t look fat in stretch Lycra, would we need men at all?
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Men are as useful as a solar-powered vibrator on a rainy day.
Attitude
Men can never admit they are wrong. Women can admit they are wrong . . . starting with having chosen a guy who can’t!
Weather
Men say that women are like cyclones: they’re wet when they come and take the house when they go. Women know better – it’s men who are like cyclones: you never know when they’re coming, how long they’ll stay . . . or how many inches you’re gonna get.
Holidays . . .
Are like men too – never long enough.
Objects
Men don’t treat women like objects. Hell, no. They treat their objects way better.
Socializing
Men always want to leave parties early. They’re social premature ejaculators.
Brains
The reason men have that tiny hole in the end of their penises is so they can think with an open mind. A man’s undies are always ruminating.
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If you see a man idly scratching himself in the groin area, he’s not itchy. He’s just thinking.
Idolization
Never put a man on a pedestal. The only time a man should be put on a pedestal is when he’s too short to change your light bulbs.
What men want
Basically, what all men want is a lingerie model with a tubal ligation, a Ph.D, and a private income.
Map reading
Let’s call a truce on map-reading fights. I admit most women use a map-reading technique along the lines of ‘It’s one fingernail’s length further towards the red dot and then veer left.’ Or ‘Wales? Oh yes. Head for Harvey Nichols and turn right.’
But men refuse to admit they’re lost even after you’ve spent what seems like an entire week on one seven-lane sub-orbital ring road and everyone in the car has started to resemble passengers on the raft of the Medusa.
Men would rather die than ask directions. Which is why they always include a woman in the space shuttle now.
Mind you, a woman’s favourite destination is a cosy little spot which goes by the name of ‘G’. Find that and she’ll be really happy. That’s one gadget men really do need – a TwatNav.
Cars
Men think ‘sex drive’ means doing it in the car – probably because of that little sign on the rear-view mirror which reads, ‘Objects in this mirror may appear larger than they are.’
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All men think they’re good drivers. When he gets a note under his windscreen saying ‘parking fine’ he thinks it’s a complimentary comment on his driving skills.
