November 18, 2013

Happy Wives Club…Do You Qualify?



Hugs for Diane and Tom


We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly. —Sam Keen

I’m shamelessly cutting and pasting a blurb from the Happy Wives Club website, for today’s post. After all, I’ve been immersed for years in couples (and families) involved in domestic violence. How nice it is to see another side.


First, there were the Stepford Wives.  Then came the Desperate Housewives of Wisteria Lane.  Followed by the “Real Housewives” of Orange County, Atlanta, Washingon D.C., New Jersey and New York.

Wives are miserable.  Marriages usually fail.  Husbands eventually cheat.  This is what so many have come to believe.  But this is not everyone’s reality.  It is certainly not mine.  I am a happy wife.  I love being married.  I adore my husband.  And I am not an anomaly.

Yes, there are some unhappy wives, marriages that end in divorce and husbands who are unfaithful.  But are they the majority?  We don’t believe they are and we’re setting out to prove it.

We’re searching for at least 1 million happy wives all over the world. Those like us who enjoy being a wife, absolutely adore their husband and are still head-over-heels in love.

Are you a Happy Wife?  If you are, just click here to ‘Join the Club’ or on the top of this page and give us your name, city, state and/or country.  That’s it.  It is that simple.  Once you’ve joined the ‘club,’ please invite your friends.  Together, we’ll get to 1 million members faster than you can say, “I Am a Happy Wife!”

Love doesn’t make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile. —Franklin P. Jones


It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages. —Friedrich Nietzsche

(A NaBloPoMo post)

July 17, 2008


At the end of this post there is a question, which you can respond to. Thanks!

My head shot up as I unsuccessfully tried to hide my shock at my aunt Julia’s statement.
Had I heard her right? Noting my surprise, she repeated her statement.

“You know, Gary isn’t really John’s father,” she repeated.

I collected my thoughts by numbing my swirling emotions. I wanted to rehear the story my aunt just told me about my mother Melissa, my father Gary and my brother John.

“Your mother, Melissa, came barging into our house one day, chasing after Gary,” she began.  “She yelled out at him (more…)

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