How did I manage to do it, you will ask?
To escape the fate of so many other women…
What could I have possibly done differently?

Well, I’ll tell you…

I began by collecting back issues of 1950s women’s magazines,
Reading each one carefully, determined not to miss a single beauty tip or
Article about how to make your man happy.

Next, I read cookbooks cover-to-cover, from Betty Crocker to Better Homes and Gardens
And, over time, learned to make the town’s best coq au vin, tiramisu, and lobster bisque.
Taste and presentation mattered most to us,
And I served tiny-portion five-course meals, trying to keep the calories down.
Once on the lips, twice on the hips, as they say.

We invited dozens of neighbors to our spacious home for dinner
So I would have a chance to exhibit as
The perfect hostess.

Our home sparkled too.
I spent hours scrubbing linoleum,
Maintaining streak-free windows and mirrors—
Eight bedrooms, three bathrooms.
The neighborhood housewives thought I should win an award for
My excellent housekeeping skills.

And when I grew tired of it all, I would write in my journal while my husband was asleep.

I participated in the neighborhood watch, drawing back the curtains,
Observing my friends quietly to
Capture the town while no one else was watching.
I did such a grand job keeping everything tidy, homey, and pleasant,
One of the local husbands suggested I run for mayor.

Can you imagine?

Hector, my husband, boasted about my many talents as a decorator, chef, mother, and wife…
At least until his untimely death.

It was a stormy Saturday and my sweetheart just couldn’t stay away from
The Golden Goose golf course.
I told him not to go, but he couldn’t be persuaded.
Lightning struck at the beginning of the 18th hole.
It was his best game, the other husbands told me at the wake.

After the funeral, I returned home and surveyed each room.
In his study, I found a nice bottle of whisky, a box of Cohibas,
And an elegant fountain pen.
It was so much finer than the pens I used to write in my journal.
But I suppose this is my study now.

I began searching for information.
The internet has really proven its value.
I ordered books, essays, and plays:
Le Deuxième Sexe, A Room of One’s Own, The Vagina Monologues
And others.

I learned the true story of F. Scott Fitzgerald and
His wife, Zelda’s, epic romance.

It was a fallacy.

I poured my late husband’s Scotch into a tumbler,
Smoked his Cuban cigars,
And began planning my future.

I started wearing comfortable shoes,
And my neighbors,
Sensing I had lost myself,
Smelling the booze and smoke and
Seeing me tipsy on occasion,
Began calling more frequently.

They brought kind words and cream puffs,
Duck à l’orange and ratatouille,
Tabbouleh and truffles.

Every day I feasted
As I wrote in my journal
And read about the streets and lives outside of my town.

All I need is a friend, I said to myself.
My home is roomy and empty and surely
Someone is looking for company too.

We can start a book club,
Write poetry, paint, and
Dine al fresco.

I announced to my neighbors that I was
Planning to help wayward women
Start a new life in Stepford.

They were delighted to know
I would soon have companions
To help me
Just as I would help them.

Look! A woman driving alone!
Well, here’s my chance!