Photo by 10 Mix via Flickr

The Third Wife’s Tale

Visas, false claims on the resume and life in hubby’s gold tower.

This is the first in a series of tales, loosely (oh so loosely) based on The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer. Mine are set in the present day and take place on a bus heading to the revolution. Each of the 24 characters shares thoughts and experiences in the Age of certain orange president. To read the Prologue, please read.

There are many who wonder why
I married a man I can’t stand.
My main line of avowance
Is the size of the allowance
I pried from his too tiny hand.

The attraction was always his billions;
My parents encouraged the pursuit.
They said, “Hold your nose,
Just think of the clothes!
And his wee willy flagpole salute.”

He proposed with a rock and a pre-nup,
Falsehoods were among his concerns.
I was forbidden from cheating,
Discouraged from eating,
And told never to share tax returns.

I was worried about visas and waivers,
But his money helped me sail on by.
Although technically incorrect,
I said, “I’m an architect”,
And he swore no one would catch the lie.

I moved into his hideous gold mansion
And took on the decorating and such.
A massive painting of himself,
Not a single book upon the shelf,
The motif bore a decided Midas touch.

You ask if we were happy.
How to answer that and still be kind?
I loved all the Dior,
And the Chanel even more.
I put the rest of it firmly out of mind.

Look, the truth is I never really cared
About all the other women he’d nab:
The waitress in Annapolis,
The pole dancer from Indianapolis —
All that extra-curricular pussy he’d grab.

I was in it strictly for the dough,
The commercial connections, the fancy cars.
I craved everything I could get
Like a modern Marie Antoinette
And I hoped to be on Dancing with the Stars.

It all might have trundled on forever,
Two lives in distinctly separate beds.
But on some so-called golf vacation,
He found “leadership inspiration”.
I blame the hair stimulant meds.

The next thing I knew he was on the road
Lobbying for a job as top dude.
People thought he was adorable;
They were unremittingly deplorable.
And, oh, the rhetoric he spewed.

I should have spoken out.
Should have stopped the Lie-o-Rama.
But I’m not a public speaker,
My written skills are even weaker.
And that’s why I rely on Michele Obama.

Anyway, those idiots believed his lies
They held faith in his charlatan plan
For him they were a-rootin’
(Well, for him and Vladimir Putin)
They went ding-dong for that You-Know-Who Ban.

Am I embarrassed? Should I regret it?
Or wear a cap of pink upon my head?
Will I ever “see the light”?
Flip the bird at the alt-right?
Nah, too much cash to rake in, instead.

So I’ll stick by his side at least for now.
I’ll let him call me “Pussy” or “Honey”.
In the tower I will remain
It’s my tactic for staying sane
All paid for by taxpayer money!

It’s okay to be opportunistic
If you’re beautiful and thin, you know.
I will leverage these two things,
And hock a line of cocktail rings.
In my Louboutins and my smart pussy bow.

Thanks for listening to my story.
There is plenty more I might reveal.
But I’m a very smart lass,
I know how to save my ass;
It’s all just part of the art of the deal.

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Stay tuned. More fellow traveler tales to come. The Press Secretary, The Woman Who Auditioned For Hamilton, The Forgotten Man, and more.

Writer.

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