My husband, The Lovely Greg, is reverting to his WASPy upbringing. The bit loafers I discovered in his closet a few months ago were the first red flags but I wrote the incident off...until he said we're going to Newport to watch the crew race. The horror isn't the race itself rather it's the timing. I've been begging him for a trip to Newport for months and he's been putting off. Now, I fear, there are darker forces at work. 


Greg’s an unrepentant WASP. He is as he does, which brings me to the point: he’s joined a new gentlemen’s club. Not a sports club. I’m talking about a traditional lounge establishment where the educated elite hangout. Or as I see it, the masculine mans’ escape; a place of solitude where like-minded clansmen gather when their asexual wives are on the rag.


I don’t have a problem with this. My father belongs to one and they’re extremely charitable. The problem is now the wives of his clansmen feel it necessary to befriend me. I have nothing in common with these women!


Emasculating my husband doesn’t make me feel better about myself. I actually enjoy taking care of my kids. I don’t want to join any charity simply because so-and-so is on the board. And hell no, we’re not going ‘summering’ with the group! First of all, you ‘summer’ with your family not your friends. Second, we don’t ‘summer’. That’s a line of WASPy even Greg won’t cross.


So you see with Greg’s emerging WASPiness is causing me grief. Not only that but he’s also purchased BC a mini tweed waistcoat and trouser…and don’t get me started on the madras plaid and seersucker short sets. It’s rubbing off on the next generation. If I find BC reading Faulkner, Twain, or Capote I’m restricting Greg’s access to the boy!

*Deep Breath*

Rant Over!





said bit loafers...:(