Ok, I will admit it to the world at large- I am hard to get along with. I do not make friends easily. I am loud, over-bearing, nosy and obnoxious. There is no “She’s ok” with me. You either ADORE me and think I am awesome or you hate me and think I am THE single most annoying person on earth.
So, living in PERFECT is not easy for someone like me. You see, PERFECT is a master planned community. This means we are “self-contained.” We have schools, churches, grocery stores, banks, restaurants, and all the amenities an upper-middle class person could ever need. All of these niceties are secured behind the gates of our manicured lawns.
The downside to being self contained is that everyone knows everyone. If you are lucky enough to be a DINK ( Double income, no kids) you MAY escape SOME of the nosiness, but if you have a child in the school, all bets are off. Once the PTA gets their hands on you, your business is everyone’s business.
So, imagine my horror when Lauren started school and my every move was watched. They all wanted to know: What did I wear? Where did I work out? Where did I go to college?
Well, the last few weeks, I was starting to finally feel like I was fitting in. Moms were being nicer to me at the Starbucks. Neighbors were stopping to chat. My empty garbage cans were at the top of my driveway every Monday and Friday, placed there by a caring neighbor.
I figured my annoying over the top personality FINALLY caught up with them, and they were liking me.
I was wrong.
I was at the local pizza shop today having lunch with Anthony when a mom I had never seen before came over to me. “Aren’t you Joey’s wife?” She asked. “Yes, I am.” I said as I wiped pepperoni grease from my face.
“I’m Martina, a friend of Andrea’s, nice to meet you! Lunch is on me!” She said as she picked up my check and sprinted to the counter, visa card in hand.
ANDREA. That bitch.
Ok. Back story.
Andrea is an UBER MILF. She looks like a Barbie and acts like one too. Plastic.
She has a reputation as being THE nosy bitch in the neighborhood. She is also a notorious one-upper. Anything you have done, she has done better and it cost her more.
I first met Andrea at the park last year. We said hello and that was that. We ran into her at the park a few times, and always said hello. By the third time I saw her, I had been warned by the others of her ways.
Well, last month, I was at the park, sitting on a bench minding my business when Andrea came over. After exchanging pleasantries, she decided to get her hooks in me. She casually mentioned how she missed her husband, as he was presenting a speech to the world's most famous plastic surgens in Greece. " David is always away on a PLASTICS thing." She droned. " I don't think I ever asked you, what does YOUR husband do?" She squeaked.
I had two choices here. I could take the high road and be honest. There is no shame in my husband being a lowly Assistant District Attorney or a landscaper for that matter. Or, I could be Cici. I could spin a web of delicious lies so delicate and precise that even *I* would be impressed with myself.
I opted for the latter.
Taking a cue from the fact that I had just come off a two day bender of watching The Soprano's DVD's- I fashioned myself the next Carmela.
"I'm not really sure what he does." I said coyly.
"You're not sure?!" She giggled.
"Nope. He never told me, and it's not really my place to ask." I stated.
"What?? That's ridiculous! Where does he go when he goes to work?" She asked, starting to get annoyed.
"I'm not really sure, he travels the state, and he goes out of town a few times a week."
Ok. You could smell the bullshit from space at this point. I felt sick to my stomach by now, as I knew I was caught in my lie. NO one could believe this dreck.
Except Andrea. She smelled juice and she was hot. I think I even saw her botton lip quiver.
"Ok then, who signs his paychecks?" She asked like a CSI who had just found the bloody shoe.
"I don't know. I think he gets paid under the table."
"How much does he make at this mystery job?" She snotted.
"I have no idea, we don't have a bank account. He gives me cash to buy groceries and stuff."
By now, I sounded like a stupid moron with no brains. Surely she was going to call my bluff at any second.
Nope. She was hooked.
"What's his boss' name?" She prodded.
"Vincent something?" I said in a question like answer.
That was it. She was SOLD. We chatted briefly about house prices, (Where I GROSSLY overstated the value of mine) and the elementary school fundraiser(Where again, I grossly overstated my contribution.) And she gathered her daughter to leave.
"Your son his name is Anthony?" She asked as she was leaving.
"Yes, Anthony Giovanni" I said. "And my husband is Joey, but most people call him 'Two shoes'" I yelled after her.
I went home and told Joey the tale. We had a good laugh at the story and I have been calling him Two Shoes ever since.
Fast forward to lunch today. It all became crystal clear. I am CONNECTED. I am married to a made man. According to Andrea and her henchbitches, my husband is seconds away from making concrete shoes for the local Bunco group.
That explains all the smiles, and nice gestures. No longer am I wondering why I get asked to head every school function and attend every Pampered Chef party in the 'hood.
I AM MARRIED TO THE MOB!!
I am heading over to QVC.com to buy myself some new bling. If I am gonna BE rich, I have to look rich.
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