9781402207471

Dr. Gwyneth Berke has a perfect life...until one day she walks into her pantry, lets out a little scream of disbelief and begins the following list: What to do when you find out that your husband is in love with your interior decorator, Brad (or, A Midlife Crisis Checklist): --Get divorced (this is a must!) --Quickly discover a lifetime supply of humor (this will also help with your children and your mentally deteriorating father) --Stop sulking, show a little spirit and start a new life plan (also a must) --Recruit your two very dear, newly single friends to help you with it --Don't look back and enjoy the ride!

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Kat peeled my fingers from my forehead one by one. 'Enough for today. You're drowning in black and white. You need colour, people, something to lift your spirits. Come with me to the exhibit opening. I promise it will be fun. And don't you want to be able to discuss contemporary sculpture when you go out with someone who knows about art?' 'Please, I have no prospects of going out with someone who wears his baseball cap backwards.' 'Exactly. No prospects. Time to go prospecting,' Kat said. So I gave in. But an hour later I really wished I hadn't because as Kat and I made our altogether innocent way across the gallery floor, from behind a sculpture labeled 'Sleeping Python' constructed of knives, forks and ladles, my ex-husband Stan appeared with (they were actually holding hands) Brad, the decorator, who would have been the other woman had he been a woman. They were both in jeans. Stan had lost weight and he'd tucked in his black t-shirt to show off his Scarlet O'Hara waist. His jeans were varnished on, so tight you saw every lump and bump. He'd worn Levi's casual cut when we were married. With a dress belt.Brad spotted me first and nudged Stan who nodded. 'Move it,' I hissed at Kat, who did a little bewildered two-step in the wrong direction. Too late. 'Ladies,' Stan said as they oozed over. 'Enjoying the show?''Interesting,' I said. 'Seminal. Highly original.' I glanced down at my program while Kat presented a frozen half smile. She'd never liked Stan even in his heyday. When we were in college, he used to call her Hippie Dippy Kathy and Lucy Liberal, and she once threw a plate of waffles at his head. He'd been doing an imitation of Jane Fonda making a pro Cong speech, a nasty take-off in falsetto with a hand on his hip. We should have known.'Oh, I can't stand it,' Brad said, eyeing a metal fish sculpture. 'The halibut. He's done it with spoons for scales. It's perfect Stan. If it's under a thou, I'm buying it for the store.' With Stan's financial backing, Brad had opened a gourmet shop in Rehoboth not far from the beach house. Preciously named The Cook's Tour, it carried imported foods and overpriced kitchen tools. 'Visualize it in the spot right next to the counter where the light pours in.' He marched off.'I like your new hair, Kat. It's very becoming,' Stan said.I looked at Kat. He was right. It was different. She'd colored out the grey and trimmed it a little so it just dusted her shoulders. Subtle changes I'd missed. I was suddenly overwhelmed and angry all over again at the unfairness of it all. He noticed hairstyles now, Stan the Insensitive, Insentient. Back in the marriage, I could have dyed my hair purple and shaved it into a mohawk and he wouldn't have raised an eyebrow. Drew told me the last time his father visited, he'd brought photo albums and wept reminiscing about the twins' birth. How moving it had been. The highlight of his life. This from a man who when I'd gone into labor asked me if I could hold off a half hour, he had an editorial meeting at four.

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My Favorite Midlife Crisis (Yet)

My Favorite Midlife Crisis (Yet)

1402207476

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