Posted on 11/27/2008 10:32:10 AM PST by ProtectOurFreedom
You loser!" screamed Katie, aiming a vase at her husband. "You've destroyed my life,'' she continued, hurling it. "Just look at my hair, look at my nails! You loser, you jerk, you nobody."
Katie's husband, Jack, whose property portfolio disintegrated in the financial crash, had just told his wife that she would have to cut back on her thrice-weekly visits to Nicky Clarke, the nail salon in Harvey Nichols, and the oxygen facials, chemical peels and seaweed wraps at Space NK. Not only that, but they no longer had the money to pay for an army of bullied Eastern Europeans to wait on her hand and foot.
Worse was to come – the brow-lift would have to be cancelled; her black Amex card would have to be snipped in half; and there was no way, he told her, that he could carry on spending £28,000 a year on Henry's school fees at Eton.
Chloe, too, would have to leave the marginally cheaper (only £25,000 pa) Wycombe Abbey immediately.
Such was the aggression and verbal and physical abuse that followed that Jack was left with cut lips and blood streaming from a broken nose.
(Excerpt) Read more at telegraph.co.uk ...
The cad obviously had it coming.
Can you say ‘pre-nup’?
lol
This has to be invented but it’s still funny.
“I don’t care about losing all the money. It’s losing all the stuff.”
Obviously the women's movement was lost on people like this. Why is she depending on a man to give her what she wants? Go out and get a good job and get it yourself, beyotch. Looks like she's the nobody loser.
“We want pre-nup, we want pre-nup!” as Kanye West would have us holler. ;)
I'll drink to that!
Happy Thanksgiving! (great advice in the tagline, by the way!)
I pay $1,500 per month alimomy to my ex. Best deal I ever made.
Hey, Boo. Why am I not surprised that this is the kind of thread that would get your attention?
send Hazmat in!!!
Here’s to the ladies who lunch—
Everybody laugh.
Lounging in their caftans
And planning a brunch
On their own behalf.
Off to the gym,
Then to a fitting,
Claiming they’re fat.
And looking grim,
‘Cause they’ve been sitting
Choosing a hat.
Does anyone still wear a hat?
I’ll drink to that.
And here’s to the girls who play smart—
Aren’t they a gas?
Rushing to their classes
In optical art,
Wishing it would pass.
Another long exhausting day,
Another thousand dollars,
A matinee, a Pinter play,
Perhaps a piece of Mahler’s.
I’ll drink to that.
And one for Mahler!
And here’s to the girls who play wife—
Aren’t they too much?
Keeping house but clutching
A copy of LIFE,
Just to keep in touch.
The ones who follow the rules,
And meet themselves at the schools,
Too busy to know that they’re fools.
Aren’t they a gem?
I’ll drink to them!
Let’s all drink to them!
And here’s to the girls who just watch—
Aren’t they the best?
When they get depressed,
It’s a bottle of Scotch,
Plus a little jest.
Another chance to disapprove,
Another brilliant zinger,
Another reason not to move,
Another vodka stinger.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!
I’ll drink to that.
So here’s to the girls on the go—
Everybody tries.
Look into their eyes,
And you’ll see what they know:
Everybody dies.
A toast to that invincible bunch,
The dinosaurs surviving the crunch.
Let’s hear it for the ladies who lunch—
Everybody rise!
Rise!
Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise!
Rise!
(From “Company” by Sondheim)
I’ve been lucky enough to know women that weren’t future Toxic Wives and it still doesn’t matter. So I don’t know...
Always buy the extended maintenance contract, ALWAYS!
You just gave me another reason to be thankful.
I only pay $1300.00/month.
But I agree with you about getting the best of the deal.
He forgot the hair weaves and botox injections - pedicures... hmm. And the thousands of euros/mo on wardrobe.
The wives on Mad Men. circa 1963.
It’s fascinating that the toxic wife market is still liquid.
No government bailout needed, apparently.
Although perhaps they’re ditching investment bankers for Washington lobbyists. The article didn’t make that clear.
In that scenario best thing that ever happened to him then.
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