The Divorce Diet

I've observed an interesting pattern at work -- and it does happen frequently enough to be considered a pattern, if not the norm. Not the rule, but at least a pattern, and maybe the norm. (And I've been with my company over eight years, long enough to know a bit about the ebbs and flows of many employees' personal lives over time.) In any case, what I've observed is women gaining weight --to the point of clinical obesity, in some cases-- over the course of marriage, getting divorced, and then going on a crash diet/fitness binge that has them in really outstanding shape within a matter of months of being "back on the market." I don't observe this in the men, who, for better or for worse, tend to stick to their physical status quos in and out of matrimony. But in the case of the women, I wonder which are the causes and which are the effects, and whether the slim slam might have been worthwhile prior to the divorce.

Wallflowers

That little walk down memory lane with the Paulina posters got me thinking about other ladies that adorned my walls in high school, albeit briefly in each case. The very same pictures shown here of Helena Christensen (you may remember her biggest early career exposure as the coy siren in Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" video; the version of her pic on my wall was strategically cropped right between the top of her TronBra and the end of her hair) and Cindy Crawford managed to last at least a couple of months on a cork board behind my door until my dad discovered them. I remember having a poster of Nena in a miniskirt and ankle boots, and one of Madonna in her "Boy Toy" garb circa 1985/86 -- which, incidentally, was the fantasizing image in my head on the one occasion in my life when someone (my sister) sort of caught me m-ing. Actually, I was in my parents' bedroom using a little Wahl hand massager when I heard her approaching in the hallway and stopped just before she entered the room, but it was clear to her what I'd been up to. (Hey, at least I wasn't adorning my digs with Boy George, Elton John, Pete Burns or George & Andrew, much less, fantasizing about them!)

During my first year in grad school, I had a this (red) Nike poster of, as you might have imagined, Gabby Reece. (The B&W image of her shown here also adorned one side --Grace Kelly was on the other-- of a large, laminated "day marker" sheet that I had in my Franklin Planner until my then-future mother-in-law stumbled upon it while perusing my schedule and tasks during sacrament meeting after my wife and I had started dating.)

But other than those, I believe wallpics have always been of girlfriends, and only a few of them.

Wolford 3

Shouldas

While riding my bike tonight, I passed a scene that reminded me of an unforgettably magical experience from early in our marriage. So I just emailed my wife:

My first thought after that fond memory was how much time, energy and emotion we've wasted since then, by doggedly resisting a few really minor adjustments that would have had a major impact on where our relationship is...some "shouldas": played more, agreed to the principle and practice of a household budget, practiced a little more humility and simple kindness, had a lot more sex, prayed & read scriptures together, relaxed our adherence to a few ideals and ideologies. My inclination is to end that series with "etc," but off the top of my head, I really can't think of any relatively small tweaks that would have yielded massive results. Can you? Anything you want to do about it?

Foxy News

My uncle sent me a clip of Glenn Beck asserting that the government will own your computer if you visit the official Cash for Clunkers website. I've gotta hand it to the producers, because something about Beck's guest commentator, Kimberly Guilfoyle, makes me want to pray and become a Fox News watcher.

Wolford 2

Reach out and touch someone

No, this isn't Cave Tour: Part II.

This evening, I wrote this email to my wife, who's with the kids for a couple of weeks at a family reunion of sorts at her grandparents' house in the midwest:

Hi, this afternoon I ran errands, mowed the lawn and rode my bike up the canyon. En route, I passed the tennis courts--as usual--and wondered whether we ought to take up tennis together. I took lessons when I was younger, and while the skills didn't stick, I can probably still navigate the rules and aim a shot accurately within 10 feet. Anyway, something to think about. En route I also saw lots of legs. I had impure thoughts. The good news is that when I got back home, these impure thoughts migrated to you, which sort of makes them pure thoughts, except that you're not around, which I'm gonna bet IMpurifies them. Funny how that works. I wonder what the bishop's handbook says about phone sex and/or sexting between spouses. So I thought I'd give you a call; tried your cell and the house, no answer.

What I didn't tell her is that I put some of her Lancôme Clarifiance--its smell reminds me of her--on my hand and began to M (but stopped...more on that later) while touching my mouth to the last pair of panties she wore when we made love. I didn't think she'd take that additional as an "appropriate" sign of, let's say, longing devotion across the many miles. Rather, she'd probably think something entirely unreasonable, like it was plain old horniness focused on an authorized object. Where she'd get a notion like that is beyond me.