The poor woman is miserable. She needs a Girls Night Out, as depicted in the movie Nine to Five,when Dolly Parton and Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda get together to drink and smoke and commiserate about bad male behavior and their boss in particular. Another movie, The First Wives Club, stars Bette Midler, Diane Keaton and Goldie Hawn as they plan revenge on their philandering exes.
Princess Di had girlfriends. She and The Duchess of York, Fergie (Prince Andrew’s wife-at-the-time) were walking side-by-side in a crowd one day. They giggled and whispered confidences and used their bumbershoots to poke the butts of the people in front of them.
That’s what girlfriends do. Do you suppose the Queen has girlfriends to relax with?
I have a group that, when we first gather, start off with The Organ Recital.
“My gallbladder is the problem now,” one says.
“I had my gall bladder out,” says another. Now I have IBS. I take Xanax.”
“My doctor says not to take too many Tylenols because they can damage your kidneys or your liver or something. He gave me some Xanax, too.”
“I try not to take too many Excedrins, but my arthritis is unbearable when the weather is cold and rainy.”
“I take Prilosec,” says one, when the nearly universal problem of heartburn comes up.
“If I eat onions or garlic or broccoli I pay dearly.”
“Or coffee! And I love coffee!”
"Who has had cataract surgery? How was it? Can you tell the difference?"
“Anybody ever have sciatica?”
Groans and nods all around.
If I were Melania, I’d like at least one night a week out with my friends. Out of the White House, away from Donald. With the support of some loyal girlfriends, maybe she could eventually throw her hands up in the air, shout “Enough!” and just divorce the jerk. Forget the prenup. She’ll figure something out. She was a successful model. She could find someone to help her write a book.
I’m guessing she would need help with the book. I’m available as a ghost writer. It would be a best-seller.
Run, Melania, Run.