company?”
“Kitty!”
Kitty pats my hand. “Honey, how much do you need. Fifty? A hundred bucks? What?”
I shrug.
“You know, there used to be only two things in life that annoyed me. Now there are three,” says Kitty. “The first is people who lean on the horn in city traffic. I mean, if the car in front of you could move, he would! He’s not sitting there playing with himself at the wheel just to piss you off!”
“And two?”
“Thirty-year-old movie stars that tell us ‘how to stay in shape,’” she says, making quotation marks in the air. For God’s sake, when you’re thirty you don’t need a diet.You can eat anything. Ask Susan Sarandon how
she
maintains her figure. I don’t want to hear it from Lindsay Lohan.” Kitty goes to gulp at her wine but the glass is empty. She signals the waiter, snapping her fingers like a deranged drunk. “GarCON!!!” He’s making his way toward us, albeit slowly. In the meantime, I discreetly slide my glass of wine in front of her. She starts sipping.
“Do I dare ask number three…” I say.
“It used to be guys who wear Hawaiian shirts and Birkenstocks with colored socks,” says Kitty. “Now it’s ex-wives who suck alimony.”
“Then I better not tell you how Ben’s ex just got back from summer camp over Labor Day.”
“Isn’t she a little
old
for camp?”
“She was picking up the twins. Rosemary spent $5,000 this summer to send them to camp.”
“What the hell does a kid get at a $5,000 summer camp?
“Vodka and a lap dance?”
“Then I should send my husband, the Brit!”
“You’re funny,” I say.
“You know the Brit pays alimony, too.”
“He does?” I’m stunned. “Wait, your Clive was married?”
“To some pop tart in the mother country.” She tackles the next glass of wine, which the waiter has barely set on the table. My glass, half full, has become her backup plan. “His ex is some washed-up go-go dancer. A real bumpkin.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and she collects so much paper she makes trees disappear!”
“Okay, but we can’t brood,” I say gently. “It is what it is. We have to accept, adjust and tolerate the situation.”
“What are you, the Dalai Lama’s love child? Why are you always so happy?”
“Humor is the new sexy.”
Kitty rolls her eyes and downs her entire glass.
“Look,” I say, “The law dictates men have to give these ex-wives ‘x’ amount in alimony…”
“But it doesn’t dictate they have to take it!” says Kitty, a little too loudly. The whole restaurant turns. “Let me tell you something, kiddo. Alimony keeps a woman in a stuck position. It’s basically welfare. The only difference is that one woman takes from the government and one takes from an ex-husband.”
“It’s the inverse of welfare,” I say. “It’s called
hell
fare.”
“Why is it that the system sets it up to extract from the giver, not the taker? I don’t get it,” says Kitty. “Clive worked for a corporation for twenty years, but when it was over they didn’t hand him a paycheck for the next twenty years. Why should you get paid for a job you’re no longer doing?”
“Well, forget about her,” I say, guzzling my ice water. “All I know is that I don’t want to end up one of those women who stay in a relationship because of money either.” Fear creeps into my voice as I swallow. “You know how many women are in relationships because they can’t afford to get out? Or because they get in over their head? The statistics are staggering…”
“Oh, please. Ben’s lucky to have you. You do everything for him. Hell, you put fresh cucumber slices in his water pitcher.”
The waiter interrupts to see if we’re ready to actually order
food
to go with the third glass of wine. He methodically runs through a list of specials that we aren’t going to eat anyway. Not that Kitty’s listening. She’s on her Blackberry again, scrolling like a mad woman.
“What was the fish special again?” I ask
“Kitty!”
Kitty pats my hand. “Honey, how much do you need. Fifty? A hundred bucks? What?”
I shrug.
“You know, there used to be only two things in life that annoyed me. Now there are three,” says Kitty. “The first is people who lean on the horn in city traffic. I mean, if the car in front of you could move, he would! He’s not sitting there playing with himself at the wheel just to piss you off!”
“And two?”
“Thirty-year-old movie stars that tell us ‘how to stay in shape,’” she says, making quotation marks in the air. For God’s sake, when you’re thirty you don’t need a diet.You can eat anything. Ask Susan Sarandon how
she
maintains her figure. I don’t want to hear it from Lindsay Lohan.” Kitty goes to gulp at her wine but the glass is empty. She signals the waiter, snapping her fingers like a deranged drunk. “GarCON!!!” He’s making his way toward us, albeit slowly. In the meantime, I discreetly slide my glass of wine in front of her. She starts sipping.
“Do I dare ask number three…” I say.
“It used to be guys who wear Hawaiian shirts and Birkenstocks with colored socks,” says Kitty. “Now it’s ex-wives who suck alimony.”
“Then I better not tell you how Ben’s ex just got back from summer camp over Labor Day.”
“Isn’t she a little
old
for camp?”
“She was picking up the twins. Rosemary spent $5,000 this summer to send them to camp.”
“What the hell does a kid get at a $5,000 summer camp?
“Vodka and a lap dance?”
“Then I should send my husband, the Brit!”
“You’re funny,” I say.
“You know the Brit pays alimony, too.”
“He does?” I’m stunned. “Wait, your Clive was married?”
“To some pop tart in the mother country.” She tackles the next glass of wine, which the waiter has barely set on the table. My glass, half full, has become her backup plan. “His ex is some washed-up go-go dancer. A real bumpkin.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and she collects so much paper she makes trees disappear!”
“Okay, but we can’t brood,” I say gently. “It is what it is. We have to accept, adjust and tolerate the situation.”
“What are you, the Dalai Lama’s love child? Why are you always so happy?”
“Humor is the new sexy.”
Kitty rolls her eyes and downs her entire glass.
“Look,” I say, “The law dictates men have to give these ex-wives ‘x’ amount in alimony…”
“But it doesn’t dictate they have to take it!” says Kitty, a little too loudly. The whole restaurant turns. “Let me tell you something, kiddo. Alimony keeps a woman in a stuck position. It’s basically welfare. The only difference is that one woman takes from the government and one takes from an ex-husband.”
“It’s the inverse of welfare,” I say. “It’s called
hell
fare.”
“Why is it that the system sets it up to extract from the giver, not the taker? I don’t get it,” says Kitty. “Clive worked for a corporation for twenty years, but when it was over they didn’t hand him a paycheck for the next twenty years. Why should you get paid for a job you’re no longer doing?”
“Well, forget about her,” I say, guzzling my ice water. “All I know is that I don’t want to end up one of those women who stay in a relationship because of money either.” Fear creeps into my voice as I swallow. “You know how many women are in relationships because they can’t afford to get out? Or because they get in over their head? The statistics are staggering…”
“Oh, please. Ben’s lucky to have you. You do everything for him. Hell, you put fresh cucumber slices in his water pitcher.”
The waiter interrupts to see if we’re ready to actually order
food
to go with the third glass of wine. He methodically runs through a list of specials that we aren’t going to eat anyway. Not that Kitty’s listening. She’s on her Blackberry again, scrolling like a mad woman.
“What was the fish special again?” I ask
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