Unwifeable: A Memoir by Mandy Stadtmiller

Author:Mandy Stadtmiller [Stadtmiller, Mandy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2018-04-03T04:00:00+00:00

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WHEN LOLA’S TWINS arrive, her luxury apartment now houses me, the Trinidadian baby nurse, the two baby boys, and Lola. The only thing we’re missing is the international sperm donor, and we could have ourselves a reality show. It is about as modern family as you can get.

Looking back, I wish I never left—although I might never have found myself if I’d stayed.

The five of us live together for quite a while, and Lola’s fraternal twins are the sweetest little creatures on the planet: crawling around, playing in their bouncy, loving on their mama, and just being so grateful to exist at all.

But word is soon passed down the newsroom grapevine that the Post’s music critic Dan Aquilante has an apartment for rent in the SoHo building he owns (he bought it for a steal back in the ’70s, and if you get anything out of this book, let it be this: Invest in New York real estate). Inspired, I decide it’s high time that I get a place of my own. Dan and I agree to $1,600 rent for the initial eight months and then $1,800 after that. I’m right smack-dab in the middle of all the bustling action of SoHo, and it feels like the height of luxury. The apartment is so nice, with a separate office in the back, a spacious living room, a kitchen, big windows with a view to the street, and exposed-brick walls.

Blaine calls it “cute.”

As I settle into the apartment, I try to feng shui it according to one friend who’s an expert on the subject. “Always shut the toilet seat,” she says. “It keeps in prosperity that way.” Another maxim is to put mirrors over the burner for “abundance.” I learn peonies are good for marriage, so I buy an Isaac Mizrahi peony comforter, too.

The entire move is such a major undertaking, but I’m so psyched to finally prove myself a capable homemaker. Of course, I tell myself it is for me. But it’s so obviously a self-imposed “look at how wifeable I am” display for Blaine. On my first shopping trip to Bed Bath & Beyond, I fill up two carts and spend more than $2,000 on everything from boot shapers to three kinds of wineglasses because I don’t want Blaine to think I’m not cultured enough to know the difference.

The wineglasses never get used. The boot shapers get tossed in the corner. That’s okay, though. Because I’ve just read The Secret. You have to spend money to make it. Besides, I’m not digging myself deeper into debt. I’m attracting things. With my credit card.

I call this Secret-ing yourself into bankruptcy.

Around this time, the other spiritual pop bestseller of the moment is Eat Pray Love. I read that, too, and when I spot that SNL’s Mike Myers has a new movie coming out called The Love Guru, I pitch a trend piece on the topic.

To report “Feelin’ Guru-vy,” I reach out to several gurus, including Amma, the so-called hugging saint of India.

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