Febreze Presents: A Day in the Life of a Trophy Wife

What's a woman 20 years younger than her husband who was purchased for the sole purpose of passing the guy's genes on to the next generation (and showing well at parties) to do when Daddy-to-more-than-just-those-children is in his office all day?  Well, here's the answer: sit quietly in that McMansion he provided as his end of the deal (he rescues you from real life, gives you that cage/house and financial security you've been taught to believe is unattainable or just Too Darn Hard to achieve on your own, plus a new last name in the bargain) and sniff the air as the evidence that you fulfilled YOUR end of the deal plays quietly in front of you.  Why are you and your kids indoors on a beautiful, sunny day?  Why are you sitting there with that blank, zombie look on your face?  Only a Trophy Wife knows for sure!

Which is why only Trophy Wives can totally understand these Febreze commercials; only they experience the shame of having fellow Trophy Wives show up at the door and notice smells you've become immune to (like you've become immune to any sense of individuality, self-respect, or reason for being beyond serving the Lord and Master you sold yourself to all those years ago.)  Spray Febreze everywhere to cover up those smells, at least until the cleaning crew comes in and actually takes care of the real problem that doesn't involve the fact that you are just another ornament in someone else's house. 

Then go back to sitting on that couch, with that vacant look on your face, sniffing the air and trying hard- but not too hard- to remember when you thought that you were an actual person and that there just might be more to life than this. 

(I'll be at the beach from tonight until Saturday, so no posts at least until then- please enjoy the archives during my break!)