Tag Archives: Anne Taintor

My Marriage Proposal

I’m generally low maintenance, but the same cannot be said for my house.

As any homeowner can attest, the things that need to be done around a house are not only numerous, but often never-ending. And unless you enjoy changing air filters, scrubbing out the shower or replacing the rain gutters, these tasks are not something one often looks forward to doing.

Side note: While I do love cleaning and have an unnatural affinity for my Swiffer Wet Jet and ‘Ove’Glove—best thing ever—this love does not extend to various other jobs that require my attention, or more accurately, require me to ignore because I have no clue how to do them.

Because I’m single, I either have to figure out how to put the screen doors in and replace (insert random odd thing you didn’t even know existed until it broke) myself, or bribe someone to do it with beer or brownies.

I’m lucky that my family lives close by because they help with odds and ends, but I have to admit there are times when I think it would be nice to have a man around to fix a thing or two, change the oil in my Blazer and possibly help with the bills. Don’t get me wrong in that I work hard, have no problem working hard and am proud of everything I have, but not thinking about these annoying tasks would be great.

So I think I have found the perfect solution–I have decided I want to be a Trophy Wife. Well, I should rephrase that to be a bit more accurate:

I have decided I want to be a Consolation Prize Wife.

A Consolation Prize Wife is like a Trophy Wife, but actually way cooler because she requires less maintenance.

The typical Trophy Wife is young and married to an older powerful man—the Sugar Daddy— and serves as a visual status symbol of his success.  She’s basically arm candy.

I’m not quite as young or as hot and probably come with more issues, but I’m not quite yet 30 and despite being skinny with no boobs, I can clean up nice. So even though I missed my chance to land a Sugar Daddy with one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel, I’m thinking I might be able to swing the alternative here.

The Consolation Prize Wife

As a Consolation Prize Wife, I would still marry a powerful man and serve as a visual (or vocal, more likely) status symbol of his humble success (like I said, I  make a great party date.) He wouldn’t be old, but would still have money so that I could be a stay-at-home-mom minus the kids, do yoga to stay in physical and emotional shape, write an engaging and witty blog and oversee the management of our animal rescue center.


I would be required to get dressed up and attend various social events with him, tell him he’s cool and frequent the Farmers Market on a weekly basis for the things I would learn how to cook.  In return, he would be required to be handy around the house, request no emotional attachment or sexual interest unless provoked (by me) and have a Canadian accent.

And we would have separate beds, as I love to sleep much more than I love to spoon.

This way my grass would get cut, I could write and be my own boss, consider it a professional obligation to clean everything all the time and keep myself in shape. He would get to always have a witty plus-one for events, someone to keep things running smooth at home while he does the work thing and the freedom to never have to answer the questions “Why do you love me” or “What are you thinking about right now?”



Because I’m smart and fairly secure, so there’s no question about why he would love me. And second, I don’t really care what he’s thinking about right now unless it involves a) cleaning the gutters, b) urging me in his Canadian accent to go write or c) my next feeding.

After all, just because a house is high maintenance doesn’t mean I have to be. And as a Consolation Prize Wife, I will make it my duty to remain that way until death do us part, at which time I will be back to where I started from.

Which will be, most likely, Home Depot.

Roughing It

I figured we could end the week with one more nature post, seeing as many people will be packing up to go camping for the holiday. I will not be one of them, as I do not camp.

annenot camp

Don’t get me wrong. I love the outdoors and worship the sun and nature. And while I’m not high-maintenance—the closest thing I’ve had to a pedicure in the past few years is stubbing my toe while falling UP the stairs and losing a nail—I  don’t find appeal in sleeping on the ground in a tent pretending I’m homeless.

While it’s been years since I’ve been on vacation, when I go, it involves the option of a warm shower, a real bed and little bottles of shampoo I can steal and take home with me.

And although I’ve never slept in a tent, I do have a bit of camping experience. When I was younger we had a trailer up north that we spent a good deal of time at in the summer. It was a decent sized rig with a shower, small kitchen, deck, etc., but it was still a trailer.

I fished, I shot my bow and arrow (not at anything living, at least on purpose,) I tore around on the four-wheeler, we went for nature walks and into town for ice cream at Jones’ ice cream and cheap toys at the Ben Franklin.

We would blow up the inflatable alligator and hit the lake before coming back to nighttime campfires, Cribbage games and attempts to attract bats by throwing random crap up in the air by the park lights.

I was young, and other than the fact that I rolled out of the top bunk of triple bunk beds—a bed rail was quickly installed—I had no real complaints. Now that I’m older and debatably wiser, I would have many complaints, which is why I don’t even attempt to pretend to want to camp.

Thesis statement:

Why someone would want to leave indoor plumbing, decent food and the likelihood of not contracting mosquito malaria for outhouses, dirt-covered food and the likelihood of being attacked by a baby deer in the woods is beyond me.*

*To each their own, of this I know (disclaimer so campers don’t get pissed, although if they’re camping, they shouldn’t have access to Wi-Fi.)

But for those who enjoy camping and would like to recreate this experience at home, I have a few suggestions:

  • Hang your clothes over a wood fire to get that signature smell, the one that will hopefully cover up the other signature smell of musty dampness.
  • While you’re over the fire, singe your eyelashes and grab a hot poker to recreate the experience of starting the fire and attempting to roast anything over said fire with a metal stick.
  • Scald the skin on the roof of your mouth in an attempt to eat whatever it is you were trying to roast that didn’t fall into the flame.
  • Hovera lot—and get used to swatting bugs with one hand while wiping with the other. This takes skill, which is why you will most likely find yourself pissing on your own leg (hey, you wanted to go camping.)
  • Pour sand directly into the bottom of your bathing suit and any exposed crack or opening in your body. If a lake is nearby, also include seaweed.
  • If you feel like getting fancy, spray yourself with a water bottle to recreate the (lack of) water pressure trailer showers provide. Forget about washing your hair (this is actually a positive in my book.)
  • Plant families of the loudest bugs on the planet in your backyard directly next to your window. If available, add in the mating calls of mystery creatures you’re sure are rabid and hunting you down.
  • Roll your meals in damp dirt.
  • Roll your clothes in damp dirt.
  • Roll yourself in damp dirt.

So for those of you starting your camping season this weekend, may the force be with you. I plan on working in the yard a bit, reading and enjoying the luxury of warm showers, good food I didn’t have to catch and a few good baseball games.

I love not camping.