 |
A hearty stuffed acorn squash recipe- comfort food for omnivores. |
Yours truly has been stewing. Not in the culinary sense, Darling. Stewing about Sting. And Oy, the photo of him ducking his head down in the back seat of his silver SUV outside the "exclusive" Hamburg brothel Relax. Ouch. A sheepish duck that possibly allegedly connotes canoodling guilt (okay, maybe he didn't actually canoodle-- maybe he innocently indulged in some very chaste and proper lap dances in a post-concert-suffering-from-exhaustion kinda way, you know, while sans wife Trudie and his six children).
Whatever.
I know I'm a little old-school on the whole marriage fidelity thing. I admit it. Marriage- in my book- means monogamy. If you can't keep it in your pants, Buster, why on Earth bother to marry? Go have fun. Who's stopping you? And, yes, even while I'm snug in my quaint monogamy I am well aware that many celebrity marriages are, shall we say, open arrangements (if not totally a sham-- arranged strictly for PR to hide a secret life and keep the heart throb action hero millions flowing in). But I have to ask. Exactly what brilliant meta message in a bottle does this send to your three beautiful daughters, Gordon?
Oh well. I'm trying my best not to judge. Maybe Trudie's fine with it. Maybe she just got tired of all that tantric sex Sting blathered about in the press while their daughters were in middle school.
Back in the humble world of non-rock star status I may have to edit my Honda Fit driving playlist. I mean, there I was, scooting down to Santa Fe with my muffin-baking dish-washing stripper-free husband (to buy acorn squash, grass fed organic beef, roses and wine for our guests) and every other song blasting over the audio system- it seemed- was a Sting song. I spent half the time in the car reaching over to push the next button.
Man, said my ho-free husband, You're tough. So are you ever going to listen to him again?
The post-feminist warrior mother goddess stirred inside.
Done with Sting, I answered.
No comments:
Post a Comment