My husband returned from a business trip on Friday. Apparently the only thing on the plane worth reading was a Newsweek article about how more and more women are having affairs. The profile is that they are mid-thirties, been married around eight years and have kids. So of course I got the quiz on Juan the Pool Boy when he got home. Forget that we don’t have a pool or even a koi pond in the backyard. I hardly think I can talk Juan into coming in to clean my inflatable kiddie pool. And once he’s there, I doubt he’d stay; the sight of me in my skirtini is not what I’d consider stunning or erotic.

But the whole conversation got me thinking. All I need is for Matt Damon to realize what he’s missing by globe-trotting and making movies instead of living in my smallish walk-in closet as my boy toy. I mean really. What DOESN’T a 33-year-old housewife who is happily married with two kids have to offer? I’m smart and have a dry wit. He wants me, he just doesn’t know it yet. Let’s look at the facts:

• We’re the same age.


• His middle name is Paige, my daughter’s middle name is Paige.


• He’s handsome, my husband is handsome. I like handsome.

The connection is so clear.

I've read that his mom had him cleaning and planning/cooking family meals since he was little. I can use that. You see, when I say ‘boy toy’ you may have the wrong idea. If I’m going to have an affair, I’m going to have to make it worth my while. My idea of a boy toy is Matty in an apron, holding a mop, and making sure my entire house sparkles all the while showing me that winning smile.

My girlfriends will oooooh and aaaaaah over my ability to juggle it all. “How on earth can you juggle the kids’ activities, a clean house, cooking, and still have time to read?” they’ll ask. I’ll answer, “My dears, it’s all in the management style.”

The migraines, they kill me. So my new doctor scheduled me to have a brain MRI today. You would think that would innocent enough, right? If you weren't me it probably would be. However, you are not me.

I'm not skittish about MRIs. I have had plenty for my back problems. When I learned I needed one for my head I thought it would be no big deal. Then I started thinking of all those MRI brain scans my friend sends me from the Eide Neurolearning Blog. They show how different parts of your brain light up depending on what you're thinking about or doing or thinking about doing.

Then I thought about how I read an article about a "scientist" who took brain scans of a man and woman while in coitus (1-see why I put scientist in quotes? 2-I figure "coitus" is too big a word for most pervs to search).

Then I think, "Oh no! I'm thinking about sex! I should stop so it doesn't show up on the scan! Think puppies! Puppies, dammit!"

Then I realize I'm thinking of sex and puppies and that just can't be good.

"Uh, yes Mrs. Chilihead. We see that you don't have a brain tumor; you're just a pervert."

I love my Sirius radio. Lately I've been listening to talk radio instead of music. Sometimes it's NPR, sometimes it's FOX News, sometimes it's Martha Stewart Living. OK, fine. A lot of times it's Martha Stewart Living. It could be that I listen to it enough that I know the phone number by heart, but I'm not saying.

I've noticed that many of the shows on MSL don't always have a lot of callers, especially the ones about pets. That has to be hard as a host, filling all that empty air. Today while listening to a segment about pets I realized they again did not have enough callers. What's an ornery, bored housewife to do?

I called them.

My call was immediately answered and I was immediately put on the air.

My question? Oh, well. Oscar the cat has been persnickity and wants me to pet him while he eats. If I don't pet him, he'll take a few bites, then come hunt me down and complain very loudly.

The host went on for two minutes about why I should just let Oscar complain and not give in. Then I followed up with, "So you don't think it's something traumatic that's happened to him? You think it's just behavioral?" And the host went on for another two minutes.

Apparently he thought I was an idiot who was catering to a cat. In reality I was laughing on my end because, hello? Yes, Oscar really does that, but do I care? Yeah, nurturing. That's me. Maybe I'll put that on a t-shirt: I nurture.

And, ladies and dad, that's what ornery, bored housewives do with their afternoons.