In high school, I dated a guy who had so much money that his father actually had gold bricks lying around the house. I always debated stealing one, but I’m not a thief and I never really knew what I’d do with one if I took it. I mean, I’m pretty sure those puppies are kind of well-tracked. It wasn’t like I could have taken that to the record store and bought Britney’s new CD without raising eyebrows.

Plus, I’m honest enough, and my conscience is guilty enough that the next time I saw his dad, and he’d said, “Hi Becks!” I would have responded innocently with, “OHMYGOD I’M SO SORRY I STOLE THE BRICK PLEASE DON’T HATE ME.”

Yeah. Not exactly coy, eh?

But in that neighborhood for 2 years of my life I learned a lot. Namely the term “trophy wife.”

As someone who, at age 18, had realized cleverly that she was allergic to a hard day of work, this seemed like an idea life to me. I’d marry an old rich guy, pop out some kids, occasionally sleep with him when Viagra could give him a boner, and live a life of leisure. I’d pop pills, have plastic surgery, hang out at the Country Club down the street. I’d lunch and spa and hand the kids off to the nannies to be raised.

Eventually, my husband would die, his First Wife would fight me in court for his estate, and eventually we’d settle. The only real kink in my Ultimate Plan so far as I could see was that I wasn’t blond, but that, I figured, could be remedied with a quick dye job.

A Trophy Wife, I liked the sound of that.

Age 22 found me unmarried with a kid, working my way through the prerequisites required to get into nursing school, and although I was pretty pleased with school, I was becoming increasingly aware that nursing school wasn’t going to be what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

Age 22 also found me to be The Date for any of my male friends going to any company parties, because, well, they knew I put out everyone needs a standby date. Evan had been one of my best friends since I could remember and when he invited me to be his date for one of his work dinners, I accepted immediately.

We showed up together at a swanky steakhouse, and in the vein of broke 20 year old’s everywhere, I began drinking immediately. Because OBVIOUSLY. So by the time dinner began, I was fairly lit and began drunkenly talking to the guy on my left, an attractive guy with an accent, probably 20 years my senior.

Evan, always one to ditch me at parties, had probably already ditched me by this point anyway, so I made this guy my date. Besides, Evan and I were just friends, and this guy was charming and funny, and, well, Evan was the same guy who had come over to my house and left a framed picture of his naked ass on my pillow a couple of years before.

A real charmer, that one.

It probably wasn’t until the end of the evening by which point I was BEYOND fairly loaded when the guy who was sitting next to me stood up and started addressing the room when I realized that the person that I’d been teasing and generally making an ass of myself in front of wasn’t The Boss. He wasn’t the Bosses Boss. Oh no.

He was the Big, Big, Big, Big BIG Boss.

And somehow? He found me ADORABLE.

Because I had no idea who he was, I wasn’t shoving my tongue up his ass trying to get a promotion or a raise or a car or whatever it is that people do around the Big Boss People and I think he found that refreshing. Maybe I was just an awesome drunk or just On My Game that night, I don’t know. All that I do know is that the second I was out of there, he was all over Evan to hook him up with me.

The problem is, I really wasn’t interested in dating him. The prospect of living a life of leisure, even though he was funny and attractive AND had a sexy accent AND a assload of money just didn’t do it for me. I tried to reframe my thinking for an entire week and I simply couldn’t do it.

Turns out that life as a Lady of Leisure, even with the prospect of free pills and unlimited plastic surgery just wasn’t enough for me.

I know. I KNOW.

I still don’t know what I was thinking.


In sticking with the bizarrely romantic themed things around here this week, I’m over at Toy With Me today, talking about people who marry…things. No. Really. I am. You should come visit because seriously, I didn’t make it up. I COULDN’T LIE TO YOU, PRANKSTERS.

45 thoughts on “I Was Almost A Trophy Wife Once.

  1. You can be my trophy wife any day, baby! LOL

    and you could have totally taken that gold brick to like a pawn shop, no?

  2. I briefly dated an older, attractive man of means and I was BORED. Had I stayed with him, outings with him and his friends would have necessitated MASS quantities of pharmaceuticals. I swear that’s why trophy wives get so much surgery-the pain pills numb them to boredom and old man saggy ass.

  3. Ahhh, the trophy wife. I too could have been one. I really should have considering I married a cop instead and he was a complete douchnozzle and really turned me off to marriage for like EVER.

    Just think, I could have been on the cast of The Real New Jersey Housewives!

    (I will come over later darling, they frown upon that site from where I am commenting now)

  4. Trophy wife seems like one of those things that would be fun for like a week but then get boring. Plus, you might end up looking like that cat lady after having all of your boredom enduced plastic surgeries. I think you made the right choice in the end. Better to be considered Trophy wife quality than to actually be one right?

    1. Oooh. Jocelyn Wildenstein. Ouch. She looks like a SyFy Saturday Premiere creature, the poor thing. I wonder which surgeon of hers it was who said “What the hell? It can’t get any worse.” and went ahead with the whole cat lady look?

  5. I wonder if I could still be able to be a trophy wife? I don’t think my husband would say yes to that. Or maybe he would if I would share my money with him.

  6. I am a Trophy Wife…in the sense that anyone who is married to me better consider me the best fucking prize they could ever achieve. 🙂

  7. On everyone loves Raymond Marie told frank “I’m not just some trophy wife” and frank said “what contest in he’ll did I win” lol great post ur wit amazes me!!!!!!!

  8. On everyone loves Raymond Marie told frank “I’m not just some trophy wife” and frank said “what contest in he’ll did I win” lol great post ur wit amazes me!!!!!!! Keep it coming!

  9. I felt the same way in my 20’s and I couldn’t do it either, even though my mother always told me it was as easy to love a rich guy as a poor guy.

    Now, of course, I wish I’d tried a little harder.

    1. Oh, I thought my Nana came up with that rich guy, poor guy thingie, course I didn’t heed her advice either, not that I was presented with a plethora of options.

  10. being a trophy wife is probably over rated….at least that’s what I tell myself…kinda makes me feel better….who would want enough money that you could use it for toilet paper and baby wipes? Who would want to just go shopping and not worry about bouncing checks? Really. It just sounds horrible….but not as horrible as having to touch those old husband balls…..see…being a trophy wife is over rated.

  11. A friend of mine actually once referred to his new bride as a “Trophy Wife”. He was so proud of the fact he had somehow managed to score a child bride 20 some years his junior. When I finally met her, all I could think of was, “yup, she’s a trophy wife alright, just not for first place!!!”

  12. Oh Aunty girl…I’m so disappointed.

    Right now you could be regaling us with stories of bitch slapping someone at the country club and your failed botox procedures!

  13. I also thought I wanted to be a trophy wife early on. However 1) I couldnt find any good looking rich guys, and 2) I am too much of a control freak. Not many rich guys want a gal who is bossy.

  14. I couldn’t do it either. I mean I havent had the chance, but given the chance I don’t think I could live as a trophy wife. Oh I would love all the free shit and money growing from trees, and I could suck it up and do it with an old guy everyonce in a while… It’s just trophy wives always have to be put together, and I? am Really Really really lazy.

  15. knowing that i’m just not trophy wife material, i’d go for a guy like evan who left a framed picture of his naked ass on my pillow. i love a guy who can make me laugh.

    unless of course he has assloads of money, then funny wouldn’t be so important.

  16. dude, didn’t I have those visions as well? Don’t we all? i think the people who DON’T end up trophy wives just have too much integrity. Do you ever have dreams of a man, not even one you know, but just a man of your liking, who makes you feel like a total dream and then you wake up and look at your partner and you think…fuck me. I love my husband and all, he’s wonderful beyond words, but if ever I came across that fella in my dream last night, it would be ON. You hear me? ON!

  17. you could always go the real housewives of orange county-gretchen route and claim that you didn’t get ANY money from the relationship. just love. ::sigh:: isn’t that beautiful?

    (i know, it’s embarassing, but yes i am actually referring to a “housewife” of orange county. ugh.)

  18. At least you tried. You gave it a week. Gold digging is hard work mentally.. You have to keep your eyes on the prize 100% of the time. I lack that level of concentration & accompanying acting ability myself, much to my own disgust when I was 22.

  19. I had a few times where I would think, “Self, can’t you make yourself like or love Mr. So and So, your life would be sooooo much easier?” And that bitch “Self” said “Hell no!” I guess that’s why I have to work, and can’t stay at home. I suppose it’s also because I DO actually love my husband, even though he makes me completely freaking crazy.

  20. There are days I think I should have married for money. I hear trophy wives have some crazy pre-nups, though. Like must maintain a certain weight range and put out a certain number of times per week/month. Gross!

  21. Maybe you can look him up and go for the whole Indecent Proposal thing:) You never know and it’d be a shame to miss out on an easy mill$

  22. So I guess you survived the last post! LOL

    Many times I’ve thought about marrying an old rich guy too. But I know I won’t be able to go through with it. I mean my ego is so huge that whoever arm I’m on should be looking smart and handsome. And of course one who doesn’t look like my grandfather!

    Kudos to you for not falling for a loveless life…;p

  23. I AM a trophy wife – If we’re talking about those cheap plastic trophies that the entire t-ball team is presented with at the end of the season over pizza hut and orange soda.

  24. Alright – that’s was so NOT nice. I thought for sure I was loosing my mind this time because I could have SWORN I had read this post before and got VERY confused.

    Thanks to my super sleuth skills (aka The Search Box) I have just proven that I am indeed still sane.

    You really scared me there. Please don’t do that again.

  25. I keep telling my husband that next time, I’mma marry rich.

    My daughter has been dating a serious La-hoo-ser for the past 2 years, and I did such a happy dance when she broke up with him. 😉

  26. It’s funny that you mention about accents. There’s actually a dating website out there called “I love your accent.”

    I learned about it from my fiancee. Should I be concerned about that?

  27. Dear AB,

    I have a question unrelated to your entry, but relating a few back. Did you get your iPad with 3G? What’s the difference? Just that you don’t need a Wi-fi hotspot to access the internet? Hmmm….


  28. Love this post. I lie how we prove to ourselves that we're not superficial enough to go after lives of leisure and SURPRISE ourselves with that proof. I often ask myself to reconsider the refusal to learn manipulation. I mean, come on! That'd help me get the things I want, right? *shakes head*

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