#BeatTheHeatIn4Words

The trending hashtag today on Twitter is #BeatTheHeatIn4Words. It is wrong that I instantly thought of Dairy Queen? My 4-word suggestion: Dairy Queen Turtle Sundae. This is part of DQ’s “hidden menu.” I think it used to be on their regular menu, but ever since this confusing Dairy Queen-Orange Julius merger, things have gotten a little weird. But whenever I think of caramel, whipped cream and hot fudge, I instantly think of the Sister Wives.

You see, the Sister Wives and I made a commitment to each other long ago. Our lifetime of depriving ourselves of hot fudge and caramel sundaes in the name of chasing junior-sized clothing will officially end once any one of us is on our deathbed. When we’re ready to take that final dirt nap, we’ve all committed to each other that at least three of us will be administering hot fudge, caramel and whipped cream in one final, delicious cornucopia of calories, gently poured down the throat of the dying Sister Wife in a flavorful fare-thee-well.

Death by dessert.

Proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.

 

It’s only fitting (since our clothes are fitting, due to extreme dessert deprivation). The only discrepancy will be Sister Wife Heather, who confounds me. You see, she doesn’t like whipping cream. (I’m saddened, just thinking of all the fun she must have missed in college…).

There used to be a really great series on Showtime called “HUFF,” starring Hank Azaria, Blythe Danner and Oliver Platt. Blythe played this salty, sassy, aging mother. One of her card-playing friends was on her death bed after a major stroke, so Blythe gathered up her remaining friends, went to the hospital and administered the final solution out of mercy for her friend. That touching scene, and that act of friendship, has haunted me since I first saw it. This was well before I ever knew the Sister Wives.

Call us morbid, but we discuss and refine this final chapter of our lives ad nauseam. We plot our final move to Oregon with the same level of care and detail that some folks put into planning their family vacations. The last time we were together, Heather sought my reassurance that I’d be okay with generic whipping cream. She was concerned that if mine was a sudden, imminent death, she might only have time to do rushed shopping in a gas station or 7-11 on her race to the hospital. I acquiesced. I might be so drugged up as to not be able to taste the difference at that point. I also agreed to Cool Whip, if things got really desperate. Hopefully, she remembers to pack a large spoon.

The Sister Wives’ annual “glamping” trip is coming up shortly. (Glamping involves air conditioned, fully furnished housing with cable TV in a campground setting.) I’ve drawn up the legal documents, and I’ve already identified the notary in Baraboo, Wisconsin. When it comes to these kinds of commitments, we Sister Wives are. dead. serious.

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This Morning: The Weird Baby Incident

A few of my non-Mormon Sister Wives and I decided to have breakfast and go see the new ENTOURAGE movie today. In a rare twist of fate, this was our second Sister Wives adventure this week, the first being a paradise pool party on Tuesday, a few doors down from Donnie Wahlberg and Jenny McCarthy’s new abode in the Chicago suburbs. This adventure didn’t end well for one of our Sister Wives…who awoke on a poolside chaise lounge at 9:30 p.m. in a Chardonnay-induced haze and is likely just now eating solid foods again. I hope the new neighbors weren’t offended that we blasted Marky Mark’s “Good Vibrations” vs. Donnie’s vintage croons.

Towards the end of breakfast, four of us Sister Wives were deep into a conversation about botox when a stranger in her late 40s to mid 50s–we are still debating her age–approached our table with a 6-month-old in a baby carrier. She looked at my friend Ophelia (we think so, anyway–we’re still puzzling over whom she was actually addressing) and said, “Do you want to see Baby Bentley, too?” We all looked up, with our collectively confused, WTF facial expressions. Did we know this woman? And why was she was foisting her baby on us? “He’s my sister’s twin baby,” she continued, by way of some nutty, non sequitur explanation. “There’s another one just like him,” she added. And then she abruptly walked away, baby carrier in hand, off to pay her bill. Once she was out of earshot, the table erupted into a mad scramble of a debate, trying to figure out who among us knew her. None of us did.

Since I’m the freak magnet who attracts every Gary Busey-type within a 10-mile radius without even trying, and Ophelia is my rare equal in this odd magnetism trait I’ve grown to accept over the years, we’re doubly charismatic-dangerous when we’re together. A reality TV show with Ophelia, me, and Gary Busey would be something to watch, I assure you. Of course my writer’s mind goes into overdrive, building a tale where this woman’s a child trafficker who dresses up like a nurse and grabs newborns from the local hospital. She did have crazy eyes, maybe just a little bit.

SO NOT me, or Sister Wife C, either.

SO NOT me, or Sister Wife C, either.

“Apparently my baby repellant is no longer working,” snarked Sister Wife C. I burst out laughing. She and I are so on the same page about this. We aren’t proud to admit it, but we deplored that whole baby mama stage of life. I’m probably the only person I know who doesn’t relish the smell of new babies. They always smell like oily hair to me, which is not a smell I enjoy. Neither is that sickening sweet baby powder smell. I never used it on Jack for that reason. Jack barely makes it out of the shower with his noxious AXE hair products and I’m already smelling oily hair on him and sending him back in for a second try. The whole baby mama thing didn’t get fun for me until Jack was probably about 1 and could walk and talk a little. Prior to that, he had his flashes of genius, but mostly, I was impatient for the next phase and bored, bored, bored. There are only so many cute moments to make up for All. That. Poop.

We finally made it to ENTOURAGE at the fancy pants theater, where you sit in a recliner with a pillow and blanket while they serve you Death by Chocolate Cake drizzled in caramel with extra whipped cream on the side (I’m not so big on the chocolate, so thank you, Sister Wife Ophelia, for putting that whipped cream on the side just for me). ENTOURAGE was such a fun, funny, and occasionally poignant movie. Jeremy Piven‘s Ari Gold character was perfection. I liken ENTOURAGE to a class reunion–all the familiar faces you miss, minus the awkwardness of actually having to be there. And then one of the main characters had to go and have a baby. And that got me wondering… I sure hope there aren’t any babies missing from the local hospital roughly six months ago…checking…