by kieryn graham

Created on: November 12, 2008

I AM the other woman. I am the wife. I have all the benefits, and you have the very best of our man.

Yes, you get elegant hotels and stolen weekends at the cottage along the strand. But I have the strong, sturdy house on the pretty little cul de sac, the one with the manicured lawn and the towering tree in the front yard. I have watched that tree grow from just a twig, and I have hoped for, prayed for, remained patient and supportive with our man, who promised he would flourish just like that triumphant Torrey Pine. Our man made discreet inquiries all around until he found a skilled, experienced gardener, certified in horticulture and equipped with all the best references, all the best tools; our man said, "It will protect our investment in the home," meaning he would have a few more precious weekend hours to spend with you. The gardener keeps the rose bushes in perfect trim, like our man keeps himself in perfect trim, so that he will look good for me, and perform well with you. We agree our man looks strong and distinguished in those pin-striped, vested suits, his body well-tailored to his clothes, just like the Disneyland ice-plant is well-tailored along the edges of the antique-stone walkway, Malibu lights and all.

You and our man have your precious little secrets, all the little double entendres and innuendoes that make your delicious-salacious connection just a little extra piquant. I, however, have the beautiful daughters and all their secrets; and I have all the friends of the beautiful daughters and all their secrets, too. I know exactly what shade of blonde Alexis, our arch-rival for Trevor's affection, uses to highlight her hair, and I numbered among the first to learn that Alexis plans to swim this season instead of going-on in softball. I know that peek-a-boo pink is our favorite shade of nail polish, and I know just how to do the math for calculating the right "synergy" softball bat; I even know all our bra sizes and what kind of tampons we need. You know just how our man likes his Starbucks, and you know his shirt measurements and preferences in cuff links; but I know that we have three straight tests in three straight honors classes on Thursday morning, so our beautiful eleventh grader will need plenty of Starbucks all her own. You and he may speak a DaVinci-like code, but I know the mystery language of the sisterhood.

Yes, you get the lovely baubles and bangles for which our man's secretary so carefully shops. She does have exquisite taste, doesn't

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